Complicating Factors
by Dark-Dreymer
Summary: My entry to the gleebigbang this year. The summer after graduating high school Finn is listlessly trying to plan his future when a prank by Santana introduces him to Will Schuester and he strikes up an unlikely friendship with the older man.
1. Chapter 1

Full Summary: The summer after graduating high school is stretched out before Finn like a big highway of suck and he can only greet it with a profound listlessness. The future that waits for him is like some hazy mirage that has yet to take shape, but when Santana decides to play a prank on a total stranger Finn finds himself striking up an unlikely friendship with her victim. As the friendship between Will and Finn grows, the older man offers advice to help Finn decide what to do when Fall comes and he has to decide what he wants to do with his life, but the unexpected feelings Finn develops towards the older man along the way are a complication that might just be the most important detail in making his decision.

* * *

The post-Graduation party is like the hangover from the huge celebration of Prom Night. Just a few short days ago the gymnasium was filled with music, joy and laughter and now everybody is simply wandering around in the haze of the realization that High School is finally over. Finn cut away from the crowd after five minutes of enduring the same bland questions ("So what are you gonna do now?" "Where are you going to college?") and frustrating condescension at his honest answer ("I don't know.") and has found a quiet seat at a table in the corner.

The football team picked up their game in the past couple of years just enough to earn him a scholarship to OSU, but he has no idea what he'd major in or if he even really wants to go. Quinn's managed a 3.8 GPA and rocked out on the SATs; she's going to Lincoln U and keeps mentioning how if he goes to State they'll be close enough to see each other during the holidays. He may be dumb, but he's smart enough to detect the hidden meaning; if he doesn't go to OSU then their relationship is over.

Which brings him to the big complicating factor in the decision: his diploma, or lack thereof to be precise. He pulls the scrap of paper that was delivered with his sheepskin at the award ceremony that morning from his pocket and reads the note over again. He's read it a dozen times already today and its meaning hasn't changed. The Ohio curriculum states that each student must achieve a passing grade in certain specified subjects and accumulate at least 20 credits, this diploma is only awarded to Finn Hudson upon the condition that he attend summer school and earn a passing grade in US History and one other subject of his choosing.

Folding the paper crisply and stowing it back in his pocket, he takes a long sip of sickly red cordial and laments that he didn't take Puck up on his offer to add something with a little kick to the saccharine drink, he thinks that getting drunk is a pretty acceptable response to the craphole his life has become in the past few days. He still has the condoms he took along to Prom in his pocket, the naïve hope that Quinn was finally going to put out had broken into tiny, insignificant fragments the moment that the Prom Queen was announced and the name called wasn't Quinn Fabray (Finn can't help but recall his mom's assurance that women can hold a grudge for half a lifetime and he gets the distinct impression that come their High School reunion his girlfriend is still going to remember that she was snubbed) and so the fact that he still has the tinfoil squares on him at all times is more a diehard refusal to accept defeat than any genuine optimism that they'll see use.

Three years. He's been Quinn's boyfriend for almost three years (If you don't count the, entirely justified, break-up towards the end of Sophomore year) and unless he manages to remember the dates of all the important civil war battles correctly this time round there's a more-than-probable chance that it's going to amount to diddly-fuck in the grand scheme of things.  
"Who pissed in your punch?" Santana accuses, smoothing back her skirt as she sinks into the seat next to him. (Not that she has a problem with flashing her panties, but she's very controlling about to whom they will be flashed and under what circumstances).  
"Nobody yet," Finn answers, "But I wouldn't put it past some of the guys, so if you want a cup you should probably get one soon."  
She shakes her head dismissively, "If it hasn't got vodka in it, I don't want to know. That cake on the other hand..." She eyes the thick slab of delicious chocolate sitting on his paper plate.  
"Not happening." He slides the plate towards himself, an arm encircling it for protection.  
She tries to stare him down, but Finn is a gladiator in the arena of food-protection; the plastic spork is a lethal weapon in his skilled fingers, and so she reluctantly relents, "Fine."

The pair sit in uncomfortable silence and watch the crowd of their former classmates circulating to the droning of _Drops of Jupiter_ over the cheap, rented sound system. Finn takes a few bites of the cake, mostly to spite Santana, (He doesn't often bite off more than he can chew but the slab he cut from the buffet table at the start of the party has proven itself too great to consume and he feels a bit like he might vomit with each bite of sticky icing and dry sponge) then asks, "Where's Brittany?"  
"She wanted to say goodbye to her locker again," She replies. Brittany had already given verbose farewells to her locker, her homeroom desk and the faulty vending machine that gives an extra can of soda if you kick it just right, the day before; but apparently felt the need to repeat these goodbyes now that she has another chance. Finn can somewhat sympathize with her nostalgia now that they are on the verge of leaving William McKinley behind them forever, but he can't find the energy in him to actually care as much as she does.  
"Do you think she'll want to say goodbye again once we're done with summer school?" He inquires.  
"Once you're done with summer school," Santana corrects.  
"That's what I said," Finn replies. "Wasn't it?"  
"You said 'we', implying that I flunked anything badly enough to be stuck here repeating classes all summer."  
"I said 'we' meaning me and Brittany," He amends stoically. He knows full well that she understood him and her joyful mocking of that fact that he's flunked US History for the third time is already getting on his nerves.  
"Probably," Santana shrugs indifferently in response to his original question, "You know how Britt can be."  
"Do you have any pepper?" Looking up to see who'd spoken, the pair find Brittany standing over them with a paper plate piled high with miniature rice krispie squares and pineapple chunks.  
"You want pepper for your pineapple?" Finn asks curiously.  
"Pepper makes you sneeze. You're supposed to sneeze when people are talking about you behind your back," She informs them vacantly, taking the seat beside Santana.  
"No, Britt,_ if_ you sneeze it means that people are talking about you behind your back," The other girl corrects the mistake.  
"But you were just talking and I didn't sneeze," The blonde points out, poking through the pineapple with a cocktail stick.  
"We were just talking about what classes you're planning to take this summer," The Latina assures.  
"Oh. I'm not sure," Brittany answers worriedly. "Is that bad?"  
"We don't start until Monday, so you'll have til then to decide," Finn informs kindly.  
"_You_ don't start until Monday," Santana stresses the word and smiles viciously at him. "I won't be going with you. Will you be okay without me, B?" She takes the other girl's hand and holds it tight.  
"Why wouldn't I be?" Brittany dismisses blandly and smiles pleasantly at their joined hands. She may have missed the point of the exchange, but Finn is more than aware that a point has just been marked against Santana in the cosmic scale and while it might be a small victory he still finds himself suppressing a smile.

Santana and Brittany begin a conversation in their strange girl language that Finn is only a third fluent in, so he tunes their voices out and resumes picking at the monument of chocolate cake still on his plate. He's aware of Quinn in his peripheral vision, caught up in an animated conversation with two people whose names Finn doesn't know and so he highly doubts they are people who she would have spoken to as little as a week ago. Hypocrisy seems rife within his girlfriend though because she's been treating everybody like an old friend who she'll miss dearly all evening, despite the fact that she spent Prom Night bitching about the majority of them after Rachel Berry inexplicably beat her to the crown. (Finn is not planning to ever tell her that his own vote went to Rachel out of a mix of gratitude for her tutoring him in British Lit, there's no way he'd have passed without her help, and guilt at how their entire class had treated her since Freshman year. If the fact that she won is anything to go by, a lot of people shared his feelings on the latter). This two-faced nature reaches its absolute climax a mere moment later when she returns to their table with Jacob Ben Israel in tow.  
"What do you want, Jewfro?" Santana demands levelly.  
"Don't be rude," Quinn asserts, sinking gracefully into the last remaining chair at the table. "Jacob just wants to interview us."  
"Interview?" Finn's eyebrow rises along with his confusion, "Isn't the school paper kinda over, dude?"  
"I've got a summer internship with the Lima News," The Jewish boy boasts, holding his notepad up like a symbol of his superiority over them. Finn isn't overly impressed. "They sent me to document tonight's proceedings because-"  
"No genuine reporter would be seen dead here," Santana suggests sardonically.  
"Because-" Jacob tries to continue but is cut off again.  
"They needed something to keep you busy until the next coffee run," The Latina teases.  
"You're not nice," The wannabe reporter declares, his voice breaking into a high-pitched whine in the middle, and flounces off to accost someone else.  
"What did you do that for?" Quinn turns to her friend accusingly.  
"Oh, lay off it Quinn. You've been giving him grief since that time you caught him perving during practice. Don't act all high and mighty now."  
"He was going to put us in the paper."  
"Okay, first, I'll bet you ten bucks right now that they never publish his little article. Second, three months from now you're gonna be in Pennsylvania. Who gives a shit about some newspaper in Lima, Ohio?"  
"I wanted the article for my scrapbook," The former head cheerleader persists. "I wasn't Prom Queen so I needed something to show just how popular I was during Senior Year."  
"You were Homecoming Queen," Finn points out reasonably.  
She gives him a disgusted look that seems to encompass 'You're an idiot' and 'You couldn't possibly understand', but she's even blunter with her actual words, "Shut up, Finn."

Leaving his girlfriend and her best friend to argue, and Brittany to her attempt to craft a model man out of pineapple chunks and toothpicks, Finn takes the remainder of his cake (Now about the size of a large brownie) and heads out across the dance floor. He passes several large groups of people talking and Jacob Ben Israel listening with rapt attention to Rachel Berry's explanation of why she chose gold star shaped confetti, but no-one who is actually dancing.

Out in the ghostly-quiet hall he turns left, figuring that he has time for one last sexually-frustrated jerk-off in the locker room; for nostalgic value, of course.

* * *

Finn wakes before noon on Saturday morning. He decides that this is an affront to his plans and all that is natural, nonetheless he rolls over to collect the ringing phone from the bedside table.  
"'lo?"  
"We need you to drive us," Santana announces.  
"Who's 'we'?" He asks, partly for clarification and partly because he still isn't over her petulant correction of his grammar from the after-party.  
"Britt and I," She answers. "We're gonna head out to that new strip mall on Pine Street and see if anyone's hiring for the summer."  
He knows full well that Santana will not be lifting a finger all summer if she can help it, so this trip is for Brittany's benefit exclusively (She is the only member of their social circle who is definitely not attending college and so is ready to enter the thrilling world of minimum wage employment). He briefly considers telling Santana to stick it and find some other chump to give them a ride, but he's more than aware that if he plans on having any fun with his limited free time until September then he's gonna have to find paid work of his own.

The girls are already waiting for him by the time he gets outside. He holds his Pop-Tart in his mouth as he unlocks the doors to his car (A rust bucket Dodge Aries. It's green; Finn hates green) and then refuses to drive until he has finished eating.  
"Do you ever clean up in here?" Santana accuses, pushing several fast food wrappers out of her way with distaste.  
"Sometimes," He hedges, swallowing the last bite of his meager breakfast and turning the key in the ignition. He navigates out of the neighborhood via North Jameson and connects onto the 117, heading east towards Lima Memorial Hospital. The route is longer but he doesn't want to pass the high school and be faced with the reminder that he's got to go back on Monday. "Have you decided what classes you're going to take yet, Brittany?" He inquires as they're cruising casually down the road.  
"I need to take Physics again," She answers as a start. "I'm not sure what to choose for my other class though. Art, maybe? I like drawing."  
"Art," Finn mutters under his breath, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He hasn't put much thought to what to choose as his summer elective, "Art could be good. If I take it too we'll be in the same class."  
"We would!" He sees her expression brighten in the rear view mirror, panning across to Santana he sees her less-enthusiastic reaction and chalks up another point against Ms. Lopez in the cosmic scale.

He turns smoothly onto the 65 and sees the sign for the new strip mall, but before it has even passed them by Santana insists they turn in and make a stop at the Pián-Mart on Orena Avenue. He considers waiting in the car, but it's a hot day and the store has a slushie machine, so he follows the girls inside and quickly realizes why Santana insisted they stop.  
"Hey Mike." The Latina leans across the counter and smirks up at their former-classmate.  
Mike Chang is wearing a store uniform and an expression that reads quite plainly 'Oh God, oh God, oh merciful God, kill me now.'  
Brittany has wandered over to the frozen produce aisle and so as much as Finn wants to save his old wide receiver from Santana's wicked intentions, he has to ensure that his friend doesn't get her tongue stuck to the inside of a refrigerator again. By the time they return with a quart of vanilla ice-cream and a Pepsi (Finn has decided to forgo the slushie due to bad association from Mike's short lived time nearer the bottom of the social heap) the young clerk is looking flustered and embarrassed, he rings up their purchases and encourages them to leave with a pointed, "Thank you, come again."  
"That was mean, Santana," Finn admonishes as they return to the car.  
"That was _funny_," She opines. "Hey Britt, promise me you won't end up working somewhere that lame. I mean, what a loser!"  
He grits his teeth as he starts the car again, but even the sound of the engine won't drown out her mocking laughter. She's the biggest bitch in their graduating year, possibly the whole of Ohio and her rich daddy has gotten her a place in the Ivy League; no small victory in a verbal exchange can hope to balance the cosmic scale (Not even Puck's immature, disgusting and occasionally borderline racist jokes about the fact that she's going to a college called Brown).

It takes them a few hours to visit every store at the strip mall and inquire about vacancies. Finn feels that it really shouldn't have taken them as long as it did, but they were occasionally sidetracked by complicated work hierarchies that sent them running between managers and assistant managers looking for someone who had the authority to hand out application forms and by Santana's tendency to want to browse through any clothing store looking for garments to mock with her acidic wit (Resulting in her comparing a particular patterned blouse to curtain fabric, only to turn round and find the assistant manager wearing an identical blouse. Finn isn't sure whether company policy forbids hiring people who've been removed from the store by security, but he figures the application probably isn't worth making either way).  
The last place they stop is a 50s-themed Diner called Peggy-Lu's. The sign is noticeably devoid of the word 'authentic' and Finn thinks this is probably because they would be sued for false advertising, he remarks upon this to the girls and they both meet the joke with blank expressions. As they wait for their extra-large plate of fries to arrive he can't help but wonder how he is the one who is having to repeat US History.  
"Why do you think you would be a good clothes salesman?" Brittany reads aloud from the first of many application forms in front of her, "Um... I buy clothes a lot and so I know about sizes and stuff?" She suggests.  
"Whatever," Finn replies lethargically. He's given over the entire set of accumulated forms to the girl; he just doesn't think that he'd enjoy working at any of the places they visited.  
Santana is pouring over the newspaper she bought at the Pián-Mart, at first she'd opened to the jobs section in the hope of finding something that might interest Brittany, but she'd quickly become enthralled by the personal ads, "Listen to this one," She announces brightly, her voice ringing with malevolent glee. "_Do you remember me? You were the shy redhead in Lincoln Park with the gum on her shoe. I was the man in the powder blue sweater vest that helped you clean it off. I wanted to ask your number, but the moment passed too quickly. Did you feel the same or am I only imagining it? Call me._"  
"Wow," Brittany announces blandly when the recital is done, "That is the saddest thing I have ever heard."  
It takes Finn a few moments to comprehend through her flat effect that the blonde is mocking the man in the advertisement, Santana suffers no such impairment, "I know, right? We should totally call him."  
"And pretend to be the redhead," Brittany agrees to the idea readily.  
"Hey, no... I don't know if that's-" Finn's protests are totally ignored as Santana has already pulled out her cellphone and started dialing the number.  
"Hello," Santana purrs seductively. "I was surprised to see your ad, but I'm so glad you remembered me. I'm the redhead you're looking for and I'd really like to meet-up. How does one o'clock on Monday sound? Meet me at my favorite restaurant, Peggy-Lu's, it's on Pine Street. Oh, and make sure to wear that sexy sweater vest."  
There is the click of disconnect and then the two girls fall into peals of laughter, "I bet he's really old," Brittany says.  
"Or fat," Santana suggests with relish.  
"With a bald patch."  
"And crooked teeth."  
"You guys aren't as funny as you think you are," Finn brings some seriousness back to the table.  
"Jeez Finn, don't be such a buzz kill," Santana grumbles, turning back to the jobs section and folding the paper in half so she won't be distracted again.  
He considers pushing further and demanding she make a second phone call and leave a message confessing that the previous call was a hoax, but at that moment their plate of fries arrives and he's distracted by the blonde dipping her share of the meal into the mostly melted carton of ice-cream she's been carrying with her for the past few hours. (The very thought is so intriguingly appalling that it demands all of his attention).

* * *

"I like to show this piece to my students when they begin this course because I feel it expresses my own opinion on the subject at hand."  
Finn is looking at a bundle of coat hangers.  
"Personal identity is something very important to all of us."  
He tilts his head to the side, but it still looks like a bundle of coat hangers.  
"This piece represents how I feel about myself and my place in the world around me."  
Finn wasn't aware that coat hangers had opinions. He doesn't think that something which has the purpose of holding up coats would be very interesting even if it could express itself.  
"By the end of our time together, I hope each of you will produce a piece of art that expresses your own feelings about yourself and your place in our community."  
Finn wonders if it's too late to sign up for the Building Trades class.

Brittany is sat beside him and looks similarly confused by the entwined mass of metal on a pedestal before the class. Finn doesn't take much satisfaction in being on the same awareness level as the blonde (She has, on numerous occasions, been outwitted by squirrels in the park) and so he inspects the reactions of the other students. Everyone appears to be confused, bored, drowsy, distracted or a combination of the above and so he is appeased. The only person outside the trend is an Asian girl with a streak of bright blue dyed into her long black hair who is observing the coat hangers with something close to awe.  
"But of course for today we'll start out small," Ms. Defoe smiles kindly at them and passes around fresh sketchbooks to everybody. "These will be your workbooks for the summer. Please bring them along to every class. You'll complete assignments and any homework in them. Should you fill the book, or lose it, you will have to purchase a new one with your own money."  
Finn accepts two books, passing one along to Brittany and keeping the second for himself. It's a simple A4 sketchpad of plain, low-quality drawing paper. He writes his name onto the front and feels no more attached to it after doing so than he did before.

The first assignment Ms. Defoe sets them is portraits, so Finn spends two hours trying to capture Brittany's image in pencil and slowly grows to hate the teacher's constant advice of "Observe every detail before you capture it." (He has to bite his tongue on the comment that photographs make portraits totally obsolete anyway). At the halfway point they swap roles with their partner and so he gets to sit back for the next two hours while Brittany is the one drawing. He's sat facing the Asian girl and so spends his time trying to recall where he knows her from, in the last fifteen minutes he realizes that she is Tina C, the Goth chick that Mike dated at the start of Junior year that resulted in his brief popularity skydive. Brittany has sketched him riding a dolphin, Ms. Defoe praises the blonde's imagination but reminds her that the purpose of the assignment was to hone technical accuracy.

Santana is waiting by Finn's Aries in the parking lot when they arrive.  
"What are you doing here?" He inquires, but he has a sneaking suspicion that he already knows.  
"That guy'll be at Peggy-Lu's in 45 minutes," Santana answers, confirming what he'd thought, "Come on, you've gotta be wondering what kind of freak this guy is too, right?"  
"No," He answers honestly, "But you're not going to leave me alone, so I'll take you."  
"Thanks," She grins winningly at him and lounges in the backseat once he's opened the car. Finn tries not to feel too much self-loathing for compromising so easily.

* * *

They get to the diner at quarter-to and Finn has more than enough time to leave before the act of horrible embarrassment his companions have decided to inflict upon a total stranger will occur, but Santana offers to buy him lunch if he'll stick around long enough to give them a ride home too and a free meal is a free meal.

The girls, having no concept of subterfuge, spend their time looking towards the entrance in anticipation of their victim's arrival. Every middle-aged or moderately unattractive man who enters is subject to consideration and Finn has to keep reminding them that they're waiting on a man in a powder blue sweater vest.

The man, when he does arrive, is subject to intense debate. Ducked down in their booth and sneaking occasional glimpses at him, Santana and Brittany both agree that while he is wearing a powder blue sweater vest, he is far too sexy to be the guy from the personals ad. Finn knows full well that due to his height he'll be more conspicuous slumped over the Formica than he would be sitting upright and so he munches on his burger nonchalantly, shooting occasional glances in the direction of the man in the sweater vest. The man _is_ sexy, Finn has to confess; neatly dressed in the aforementioned sweater vest and a pair of dark slacks. Finn's eyes wander up and down those slacks, drawn repeatedly to the stretch of the material across the stranger's butt, which is cushioned firmly on one of the bar stools.

At ten minutes past the hour the stranger is getting somewhat antsy, he finished the milkshake he'd ordered and now keeps turning round to look at the clock, one of these turns coincides with one of Finn's covert glances and the young man finds himself looking into a pair of gray-green eyes (Finn may have to reconsider his opinion of the color green). The stranger smiles politely, then turns back round and Finn ignores the lurch in his chest and looks back at his plate.  
"I'll wait in the car," He whispers across to the girls, dipping the last of his fries in ketchup and then stands up. He pointedly doesn't look at the stranger as he leaves the diner.

About fifteen minutes pass before the stranger exits the diner and makes his way across to one of the cars parked in the lot. Santana and Brittany come dashing out an instant later and clamber into the back of the Aries, "Follow that car!" Santana declares loudly (Finn is about 90% sure that she just wanted to feel like somebody in an action film).  
They follow the stranger's car (Finn doesn't recognize the model, but notes the exhaust dragging along the road from the back of the vehicle. Normally things like that annoy him, but the memory of the pleasant smile stops him being angry at the other man) to a quiet neighborhood off of St. John's Avenue. The car pulls to a stop outside a lowrise apartment building with a cubist design aesthetic; Finn stops the car a short way down the street and the three teenagers settle in to watch and wait.  
Santana bores quickly and suggests getting out to snoop around a little, but the stranger exits the building just as her suggestion is made, with a briefcase in hand he gets back into the car and leaves again, "Aren't you going to follow him?"  
"What's the point?" Finn asks, "He's just some normal guy who met a girl and was too shy to ask for her number. We probably just wasted his lunch break on this stupid prank. I'm not gonna screw with him anymore, okay?" At the time he is entirely earnest, looking back on it in the weeks to come he would reflect that he shouldn't have underestimated Santana Lopez.

* * *

Quinn drives a third generation Ford Taurus. Finn would be jealous but he understands the difference in the pay scale of an upper-middle-class civil servant who dotes on his daughter and a medical secretary single mother who scrimps every year to buy her son a birthday and Christmas present. Her car may be a sleek and shiny new model, but his rust bucket is just as capable of transporting people from A to B. Nonetheless, he prefers Quinn's car because she won't let anyone else drive it and so he gets to relax in the passenger seat and enjoy the air con.

"Here?" Quinn calls over her shoulder as they pull into a quiet little neighborhood.  
"This is it," Santana agrees, opening the door and climbing out onto the suburban street.  
Finn had been relaxing with his eyes shut for most of the journey, but it doesn't take him long to realize where they've stopped. Leaning out the window, he yells at the Latina's retreating back, "No." She spins around and sticks her tongue out at him before continuing towards the apartment building. "Shit," Finn cusses quietly to himself and scrambles out after her, turning back to his girlfriend, "Are you coming?"  
"I'll wait here," Quinn answers dismissively, searching through her handbag for her lipstick. She looks up when she senses his continued presence at the window and follows his gaze to Puck, who is reclined in the backseat listening to some teenage angst ballad (Dressed up as an anti-establishment manifesto in song form) on his (Probably stolen) CD Walkman. It's been over a year but the two of them know that Finn doesn't trust her to be on her own Puck, so she calmly retrieves the keys and buckles her handbag shut, swinging it over one shoulder as she exits the vehicle.

Now that he's closer than he was the day before, Finn takes in the structure of the apartment block properly for the first time. The building is separated into units of four apartments; two up, two down, with a separate entrance for each unit and no visible connection between the separate units. Finn wonders if the building was converted into apartments or if the architect who designed it had some peculiar idea as to how it was going to work that just got lost in translation when the construction team showed up.

They find Santana rifling through one of the mailboxes for the apartment unit they saw the man from the diner enter on Monday.  
"That's a felony, you know," Finn points out accusingly.  
"Only if you open it," She dismisses, "Check it out, he's a complete freak." She holds out copies of _Bon Appétit, Playbill _and something called _Instinct_.  
"What's so weird about a cooking magazine?" He dismisses, pointedly ignoring the fey young man on the cover of the third magazine and the implications it has (Suddenly Finn is wondering whether that polite smile at the diner had deeper connotations). "Besides, you don't even know if that's his mail."  
"I checked the others. Girl mail and old lady mail," She gestures to two specific boxes, "The other apartment is empty."  
"Well, there are two names on the box. Maybe it's for his roommate."  
Santana sighs in frustration, but before she can make a further point there's a noise from round the corner that startles her into stuffing the magazines back into the mailbox. Spurred on by curiosity, the three of them turn the corner and find a small assortment of junk sitting on foldout tables on the lawn.  
"Yard sale," Quinn remarks dismissively, the same way someone might flick past a rerun of an old TV show.  
Both Finn and Santana are aware of the man sitting behind one of the tables on the other side of the lawn, he isn't wearing a sweater vest but it is undeniably the same person. Keeping up a pretense of casual browsing the pair make their way in his general direction.  
"Something I can help you with?" A man speaks up.  
Finn looks up to see there is another man. He's blond, with highlights brought out by the sun, and has blue eyes; his expression is severe, "Huh?"  
"Are you looking for anything in particular," He speaks slowly, enunciating each word as if speaking to someone very slow. Finn is annoyed at the treatment.  
"Just looking," He shrugs. When he turns round he realizes that Santana has started looking through a rack of secondhand clothes (And since he isn't eager to learn whether it's possible to be kicked out of an event that takes place outside to begin with), he says, "Actually, um, do you have any music stuff?"  
"Schuester's got some old records," The man replies, gesturing to the man at the other table, then returns his attention to the battered paperback he's reading.

Now he has a (Weird) name to go with a (Handsome) face. Not just green-eyed, curly-haired, tight-slacked, sweater-vest-guy; Schuester. He flicks through the box of records with unseeing eyes, too focused upon taking subtle glances at the man behind the table and wondering whether the man remembers him from their brief exchange of eye contact on Monday.  
"Are you looking for something specific?" Schuester inquires politely.  
"Um..." Finn frowns down at the box and realizes he can't recall a single title from the section he's already flicked through, "I'm looking for some rock, 80s stuff."  
"Hm, let's see..." He stands up and Finn realizes that the other man is taller than he'd appeared from across the diner, only a few inches shorter than him, "Ah, here we go. _Eagles Greatest Hits, Vol.2. _There's a scratch or two, but it plays smooth if I recall." He sets it aside and digs around in the box again, "_Hi Infidelity_. You'll get a few clicks because of the dust, but the quality is sound otherwise." He puts it aside with the Eagles album and makes a third selection from the box, "_Escape_." Schuester smiles when he sees the grin that breaks out on Finn's face, "I think we have a winner."  
"No, it's just..." Finn drums his fingers on the table nervously, "Why would you sell these, I mean: Journey, Speedwagon. These guys are my idols."  
Schuester smiles warmly, "I'd keep them all if I could, but I just don't have the space so I need to trim my collection down."  
Finn looks down at the assortment in the box thoughtfully, "So either you've hoarded all the really good stuff for yourself or you're selling the classics because you have sucky taste in music."  
The older man laughs aloud, the sound is pleasant and a little infectious because Finn can't fight the grin spreading across his face, "Let's hope it's the former. Now, which do you want?"  
Finn looks down at the three records set aside on the table, "How much would it cost for all three?"  
Schuester does some quick appraisal and mental calculation then answers, "$4.75."  
Finn blinks, a little surprised at how reasonable the offer is. He asked because he anticipated only being able to afford two at the most, "Here." He digs around in his wallet and hands over a crumbled five dollar bill.  
The other man accepts the note, tucks it away in a tin and hands back a quarter. Picking up the records, he slides them neatly into a bag and hands it across, "We're running the sale all weekend, if you aren't satisfied with the records you can bring them back for a refund."  
"Thanks," Finn smiles brightly and turns back to Quinn and Santana who have clearly grown tired of the eclectic assortment of junk for sale while he was shopping.  
"Records are, like, totally lame," Santana opines on the way back to the car.  
"Seriously," Quinn agrees, "When are you gonna join us in the 21st Century, Finn?"  
"Fuck you; they're retro," He bites back.

* * *

Having spent his last five dollars buying the records, Finn is rather relieved to learn that Puck has found them a paying gig. It won't be much money (It never is), the place is an absolute dive (It always is) and they'll sound terribly unrehearsed (They always are) but it's a bar outside the University of Northwestern Ohio so their audience will be too drunk to realize how blisteringly awful their instrumentals are. This last fact is particularly fortunate as Sam is suffering one of his postponed hangovers from the ridiculous amount of whiskey he drank out in the parking lot with Puck at the Post-Graduation party and so he's become sullen and moody. Finn isn't sure if a brooding bassist is something that improves a performance, but takes comfort in the fact that nothing short of a nuclear bomb could make their set any worse.

At the end of the night Finn has: a headache, a renewed motivation to tell Puck they need to give up on the dream that their band is ever gonna hit the big time, thirty dollars in his back pocket, a renewed determination to find a paying job this summer, an unidentified stain on his t-shirt.

* * *

Finn wakes up in the afternoon on Saturday. This is a luxury that has not been afforded to him since the holidays started due to summer school and social obligations, so he takes a while to simply bask in it. He has toaster waffles, crispy bacon and Sunny Delight for lunch and then returns to his room to make a start on the weekend reading he'd been assigned. While looking around for his schoolbag (Thrown into some forgotten corner of the room after getting home the day before) and the US History textbook in it, he stumbles across the records from the yard sale (Similarly ditched the previous evening while getting ready for the band's short-notice performance). Pulling his turntable out from underneath his desk and setting it up carefully, Finn takes the Eagles record from its sleeve and sets it to play; dropping the needle into the groove with a sense of satisfaction he doesn't feel when sliding a CD or cassette tape into its player. He resumes the search for his textbook but is quickly distracted by _Hotel California, _sinking down onto the carpet with his head lolled back on the bed and the familiar tune swirling in the air around him. By the time side one has played through in its entirety he still hasn't found the book.

Finn forces himself to read through the assigned review chapter on Native American culture before he lets himself listen to side two. As _Life in the Fast Lane_ starts playing, he retrieves his sketchbook from his school bag and makes a start on the skill refining exercises Ms. Defoe had assigned to the class. Both the Journey and REO Speedwagon albums have played through in the time it takes Finn to fill two pages of his sketchbook with shading and perspective tasks.

The clock reads 6:18 and Finn's thoughts turn to Schuester's assurance that the yard sale was running all weekend, wondering what time of day it would stay open to. (It is summer and so the days are long, but sitting in a lawn chair all day must get pretty boring and if it were him he'd probably turn in at standard store closing hours). He finally decides it's worth stopping by on the off-chance that it will still be running and when he arrives at the apartment block he sees the two men packing their remaining items away into boxes.  
He locks the Aries and wanders across the lawn, hovering awkwardly on the periphery of the sale until Schuester looks up and sees him, "Hey," He greets.  
"Hello." Schuester sets a box back down on the table and heads over, "Are you bringing the records back?"  
"No," Finn asserts, perturbed by the hint of disappointment in the other man's gaze and eager to extinguish it. "Kinda the opposite actually, I was hoping to see what else you've got."  
Schuester looks back to the other man, who is stacking several of the boxes in one of the garages, "I think we already put them away."  
"Oh. Well, I can come back tomorrow I guess," He mumbles.  
"No, I'll tell you what," The older man turns back to face him with a smile. "I'm having a get-together with some vinyl fans tomorrow evening, nothing too fancy really. You could stop by then and pick out what you like from what's left."  
"Really? Cool, uh, I mean; thank you." Finn grins and holds a hand out politely, "I'm Finn, by the way."  
"Will," The older man answers, taking the proffered hand and shaking firmly.  
"Schuester," The blond man shouts from the garage. "Are you gonna leave me to shift all these on my own?"  
"I'll be there in a sec, Bryan," Will answers over his shoulder before turning back to his customer. "So, I'll see you tomorrow, Finn?"  
"You can count on it," The young man agrees, watching the other man pick up the box again and carry it across to the garage. Turning back to the Aries with a spring in his step, Finn feels a bubble of anticipation rise in his chest.

* * *

"This is the stupidest party I have ever been to," Quinn complains.  
"I don't know," Finn defends the humble get-together. "Remember that Dίa de los Muertos party Santana made us go to where everybody had to dress like a skeleton? It was like a really unimaginative Halloween party."  
"This is worse," She insists pointblank.  
"Well I didn't ask you to come," He retorts. It's the truth too, she'd phoned with plans for a date and when he'd told her he was going to a party she was offended that he hadn't invited her along; he'd been neatly guilt-tripped into taking her with him.  
"Are you saying you don't want me to be here?" She asks, voice soft and dangerous.  
"I'm saying that I told you I didn't think you'd enjoy yourself if you came and you still insisted on coming with me," He answers her question carefully.  
"I still say this party sucks," She declares petulantly, folding her arms across her chest and frowning.  
Finn has dated her long enough to recognize when she is attempting to spark a fight and knows that the best technique to avoid doing so is placid compliance, followed by a hasty retreat so she can't mount a new attack, "Whatever. I'm getting a drink, do you want something?"

While he may have argued against Quinn's comments, Finn does have to admit quietly to himself that she has a point. The room is full of middle-aged geezers in paisley shirts and neckties having little grouped conversations about rpm, methods to prevent the orange peel effect and the quality of vinyl compared to shellac. There is a stack of records waiting to be played on the turntable in one corner of the room and almost everyone has a beer, but the only gathering Finn can think of that feels less like a party than this would be a funeral. He's struck by an awful anxiety that the Prom after-party was only the beginning, that all mature parties are going to devolve down to this level and he has nothing to look forward to in the future other than cheese crackers and dull conversation.

When he opens the fridge he is tempted to take one of the bottles from a 12-pack for himself (If nothing else, the quality of alcohol appears to increase at adult parties), but his conscience reminds him that he would be implicating a kindly stranger in underage drinking and so substitutes with a Coca-Cola. Turning to look for a bottle-opener he sees Will and the blond man who'd been at the yard sale seated at the side table by the window.  
The blond looks up first and greets him cheerfully, holding his bottle aloft and proclaiming, "Yard sale guy!" He looks heartily drunk.  
Finn tries to recall the name Will had used the day before to answer the guy's demand that he return to packing up, but ends up having to respond with, "Guy who possibly lives here."  
"Bryan," Will provides as Finn takes a seat at the table. "And this is Finn," He adds for Bryan's benefit.  
"And I do live here," Bryan informs with the air of a sage imparting ancient wisdom. "Schuester and I are joint members in the 'Unfairly divorced' club and this is our headquarters."  
"Even if that were real, you'd hardly qualify for membership," Will says.  
"Why not?" Bryan asks, sounding deeply offended.  
"Because your 'annual business trips' were actually scheduled relapses of orgies, drugs and Broadway theater." From his pedantic tone Finn can tell that Will has had this conversation before.  
"Oh yeah," Bryan frowns, takes a sip of his beer, grins and widely declares, "Fuck her anyway."  
Finn hides his amusement at the older man's microcosmic mood swing by drinking from his soda. There's a minute or two of silence before he attempts to spark a conversation, "So, um, why are you hiding out in the kitchen?"  
"Because if I have to hear one more debate on the feasibility of a laser turntable that combats the dust accumulation problem I may go feral," Will replies pleasantly, taking a long pull from his beer and grimacing. "You?"  
"Because Quinn was acting like a broken record and the irony just got to me," He answers with similar forced pleasantry.  
"She's not enjoying herself," Will correctly deduces the meaning. "I'm sorry, I should have told you this wasn't going to be like an actual party."  
"Beer, check." Finn indicates the empty bottles on the table. "Weepy drunk guy, check."  
"I am not weepy," Bryan defies, lifting his head up from the table unsteadily.  
"Girlfriend complaining, check," Finn continues, gesturing to the doorway to the lounge. "Hiding out from most of the people you invited, check. Seems like a real party to me."  
Will snorts and drains the lingering drops in his bottle, "You may have a point." Collecting the empties and dropping them into a recycling container, he turns to Finn again, "Come on, I'll show you the leftovers I promised you."

They make a stealthy run across the hall without being pulled into any arguments on equalizer brands or preservation techniques and slip into Will's bedroom. The box of records from the yard sale is sitting at the end of the bed with almost the exact same amount Finn remembers there being on Friday.  
"You didn't sell many then?" He asks.  
"Not as many as I'd hoped," Will agrees, "But this is just the stuff too scratched or warped to interest _them_." He gestures over his shoulder to indicate the crowd in the lounge. "I went through my entire collection and there's a set of about as many as there are there that are intact enough to be worth a decent amount."  
"How much?" Finn inquires, looking up from where he's started browsing through the titles being offered to him.  
"A few original prints that are worth about a hundred bucks each," Will replies.  
The young man whistles, a long, low sound that says 'I can never hope to be that affluent so the very concept is impressive'.  
Will scrunches up his expression in ambivalence, "They'll be looking for any little degradation to knock the price down, though. I reckon I'll get about half what the set is worth overall."  
"That's still a decent amount," Finn points out.  
"Quite the pretty penny," Will acknowledges with a twitch of his lips.

The two sit on either side of the box, Finn flicking through the selection and making occasional comments or questions about individual singles or albums. The mood is relaxed and comfortable.  
"Why do you listen to records anyway?" Will asks in a lull in the conversation.  
Finn looks up from reading the back sleeve of Styx's _Paradise Theater_, "They just remind me of when I was younger, I guess," He answers. "I know CDs don't scratch as easily and they're smaller and, well, just better in every way... but, to me, they aren't. Putting the needle in a groove and sitting back reminds me of when summer vacation lasted a lifetime and gas was $1.70 a gallon. Does that make any sense?"  
"It makes perfect sense," Will assures with a soft smile.

When they've looked through the entire box, Finn asks the question that's been pressing on his mind, "So if these are the ones too damaged to sell for a good price and the ones out there are the ones that can be sold for more than a buck each, where do you keep the ones you aren't selling?" He sees a hesitant expression passing over the older man's face and so is quick to add, "Library rules, I'll look with my eyes, not my hands." He holds his palms up innocently.  
Will seems mollified, "Okay." He gets up from the bed and opens a closet, bending over and beginning to search through it. (Finn notices idly that timeworn denim is just as flattering to Will's butt as the slacks from the diner had been).  
"That's your collection?" Finn questions, eying the large storage chest with something close to awe.  
"Um, it's some of it," Will answers abashedly, ducking his head as he lifts the latch and opens the trunk.

They pass an hour sat side-by-side on the floor, browsing through the collection and discussing their favorite tracks from the records Finn recognizes. In the cases where the younger man draws a blank even though Will insists he really ought to know about them, the older man waxes lyrical on the singer or band and the impact they'd had on music, songs that had changed the way people thought about guitar solos, the importance of sixteenth notes or the social messages that could be expressed exclusively through ukelele. Finn listens to every word with an attentive interest he has rarely been able to summon in class.

Although at first hesitant, Will soon acquiesces to letting Finn handle the records when he observes how gently the younger man is holding any that are passed across to him and so the pair end up both flicking their fingers through the selection, hands so close that they are almost touching at times.  
"You have to play this one," Finn insists, tone reverent as he holds an album aloft.  
The older man smiles gently as he recognizes the treasure that has been unearthed, "The turntable is in the other room and I wouldn't want those vultures to know I have an original pressing."  
"Original pressing," The younger man repeats, looking down at the record in its hands as if it is the holy grail. He sets it down carefully so his trembling hands won't cause any accidents. "Can I listen to it, please? Maybe after everyone else has gone."  
Will checks his watch thoughtfully, "Give me half an hour to kick everyone out," He requests.

Quinn accosts Finn almost the instant they return to the lounge, "Where have you been?" He opens his mouth to answer, but she's in full-on rant mode and the question isn't looking for an answer, it's looking to tear him to pieces. "I've just spent the past hour listening to that guy's relationship problems."  
"Hey Bryan." Finn nods politely at the red-eyed man slumped low on the couch.  
"Look." Quinn sighs and adopts an air of false-patience, he recognizes it as the posture she assumes when she's about to make demands, "I'm willing to forget about this whole stupid night if we can just get going, okay?"  
"Uh."  
The sound is barely out of his throat before Quinn has narrowed her eyes at him, "What?"  
"There's this record I wanted to listen to," He begins meekly.  
She sighs and pulls her hair back, it's a gesture of frustration that he's been seeing a lot recently, "Fine, just give me the keys to your car. I'll drop it off at your place tomorrow morning."  
"How am I supposed to get home?"  
"Take a taxi or something," She snaps, holding out a hand expectantly. He hands the keys to the Aries over and leans down to peck her cheek, she turns away from the kiss as she goes to collect her coat.  
Some of the eccentric geezers had stopped their discussions long enough to observe the lover's spat, but now that it is over their attention returns to the detailed mechanics of vinyl records that would probably bore Finn to tears if he listened for long enough. He sits on the couch with a heavy sigh and receives another moment of grand wisdom from Will's inebriated roommate, "Don't marry that girl..." (Though this time, maybe there's some real thought behind it.) "She'll stamp on your dick," Bryan adds with a small hiccup. (Maybe not, then.)

The crowd dwindles down to only a few people and Finn goes in search of Will, finding him conversing with a gray-haired man with a mullet and an ascot.  
"Hey Finn," Will looks up from the notepad he is jotting down numbers in. "I'll be with you in a second, okay?"  
The man with the mullet observes Finn with interest, "I've been meaning to ask you about this young man all night, William," He remarks.  
"This is Finn, we met at the yard sale the other day," Will explains, looking up from the notepad again he makes proper introductions. "Finn, this is Jack; he's the owner of Ringo's at the mall on West Elm."  
"A pleasure to meet you young man." Jack smiles charmingly and holds out a hand.  
"And you," Finn returns, accepting the handshake. "So, you own a store?" He asks for clarification.  
"Sure do," The man confirms.  
He contemplates the question silently for a few seconds, then decides to follow the 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' school of thought and go for it, "Do you have any vacancies?"

By the time the party has ended Finn has a trial shift set up at Ringo's for the following Saturday and so a solid chance of having found his summer job, he thinks of this as the second best thing about the party because a few minutes later Will has retrieved the album from his room and set it to play in the lounge, and that most definitely takes first place. The two men stand by the turntable in a trance as _Second Hand News_ croons through the room, the air is almost electric with the original pressing rendition of songs that would go on to over a dozen platinum.  
"I need to clean up," Will announces as the first song gives way to the second. Finn wants to insist that the other man stay and share the experience with him, but reflects that Will is free to listen to the album any time he wants. He sinks onto the couch once again during the opening bars of _Dreams_ and drifts away on a cloud of iconic rock for the rest of side one.

For side two Will returns and stays after he has flipped the record, taking the spot beside the younger man and staying from the start of _The Chain_ to the closing moments of _Gold Dust Woman_. They do not say a word, but the entire twenty minutes feel as deep and intimate as their discussions earlier in the evening.  
"Thank you," Finn says as Will gets up to return the record to its sleeve. Simple words don't feel like enough to express his gratitude but he makes the effort regardless.  
"It's no trouble," Will assures. "Music is made to be shared."  
The young man doesn't have any answer to such a profound concept and so he falls back on something simpler, "Is it okay if I use your phone? My girlfriend sort of borrowed my car and I need to call a taxi."  
"I can give you a ride if you like," Will offers. Finn accepts gladly since he only has the thirty dollars from the gig to last him the rest of the week and Quinn will probably expect a proper date to make up for tonight.

"So where to?" Will prompts as they load the box of records that now belongs to Finn into the backseat and secure it with one of the seat belts.  
"Tremont Avenue," Finn answers.  
"North of St. Rita's, right?" The older man questions and Finn nods. "Yeah, I know it."  
The young man is not surprised to find that the radio is tuned to WOCR, and although the so-called 'classic rock' station has a nasty habit of playing some awful duds, they come in on the end of _Light My Fire_ and it leads onto _In A Gadda Da Vida_. Finn isn't sure what the etiquette of singing along to the radio is when you're a passenger, but when he hears Will mumbling along to the first verse under his breath he decides it's fair to throw his own voice into the mix when the chorus comes up. The older man smiles across the car at him and sings a little louder for the rest of the song as they cruise up the 65, it is as comfortable (Though far more dorky) as the rest of the evening has been.  
Finn thanks Will again for the records when they arrive on Tremont Avenue and words his goodbye very specifically, "So, I'll see you around?"  
"I hope so," Will agrees, giving a slight wave and then backing his car out of the driveway.  
Finn watches the broken exhaust dragging on the road as the vehicle pulls out of sight and then heads inside. Carrying the box of records up to his room he reflects on the evening's events (Will really is cool, for an older guy) and hopes he really will see the older man again some time soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The summer school schedule is set up so that on Wednesdays Finn has two hours of art and then two hours of US History. On this particular Wednesday he has the first of the four tests that will make up his overall grade for History class and so Finn spends most of the review session on complementary and contrasting colors staring longingly at the art studio's clock, willing it to go backwards as it approaches ten to ten.  
"Wish me luck," Finn pleads to Brittany as they mill out into the hall with the rest of the class.  
She looks up from her backpack, having retrieved her physics textbook in the hope of some last minute cramming, "Newton's the guy with the apple, right?" She questions, wide-eyed and lost.  
As he reaches his classroom and watches her head to her own test, Finn has to admit that perhaps his own case isn't quite as hopeless as he'd presumed.

The pen lid has numerous teeth marks in it by the time he has to hand in his paper and he spends most of the fifteen minutes where Mr. DeMartino is explaining the topics they'll be covering for the next test second-guessing most of the answers he'd written down and worrying that he's fucked up his chances already.

Santana and Puck are waiting out in the parking lot when he gets outside. Puck won a Ford Lightning in a raffle two months after he got his driver's permit, got into a race and fucked the suspension up; since it was fixed he's taken better care of it. Santana still likes to point out that he only has it through luck, Puck in return likes to point out how many tickets he bought for the raffle (And seems to honestly believe that it's a good comeback to her remarks).

Santana is sat in the back of the truck with her legs over the edge, drinking in the summer sun with a pair of shades tucked into the neckline of her shirt, over her breasts. Puck is simply leaning against the vehicle alongside her and there doesn't seem to be much in the way of conversation going until Finn approaches.  
"Hey dude," Puck gestures vaguely in his direction.  
"Hey." Finn lifts and drops one shoulder in a similar half-hearted gesture, "What are you guys doing here?"  
"Don't worry, Finnocence." Santana hops down from the back of the truck and stretches her legs, "Puck was just giving me a ride in to meet B; you're free of my torment for today."  
Finn resists the urge to flip her off as she walks to the entrance to meet Brittany.  
"Rehearsal at mine, starting asap," Puck informs. "I found us a gig on Saturday and I want us to be on form."  
He's tempted to tell Puck he's quitting right then and there, but the job at Ringo's isn't in the bag yet and if he cuts away from the band then he won't even have the crappy pay from their lousy shows.  
"Where are we playing?" He asks instead.  
"Conrad's," Puck answers with a cocky grin.  
Finn is instantly thankful that he didn't go through with his instincts, "You got us a gig at Conrad's?" (What did he do, sell a kidney or something?)  
"Some prettyboy band with a manager have a record label exec stopping by to see one of their shows. They want to look legit so they asked Conrad to find some local talent to go on as opening acts for them."  
"Local talent," Finn repeats, entirely deadpan. "So how did we end up on the bill?" (He's checking for stitch marks next time Puck has his shirt off).  
"Come on, man." Puck punches him on the shoulder, "This could be our chance. If that exec hears our stuff and thinks we're better than Prissy Little Nice Guys, or whoever the fuck they are, then we could be signing a record deal, bro."  
He knows in his heart that it's a long shot, but Puck's enthusiasm is infectious and Finn can't help but think that for the first time in two years there's actually a slim chance they're going to get out of the Puckerman's garage, get out of Lima and take their music to the masses.

He drops the Aries off at home, loads his disassembled drum kit into the back of the truck and then Puck drives them to his house. The garage door is open and Sam's already seated on the tired old couch along the back wall (Or rather, the mound of old junk that's piled up so high it serves as a makeshift wall) strumming experimentally on his bass and tapping one foot to the chords he's playing. Puck's little sister, Esther, is sat cross-legged on the old rug that covers most of the clear space in the garage, stroking the belly of her cat, Mr. Fluffles, and watching Sam pluck the strings with lazy interest.  
"Get out; we're practicing," Puck demands, striding in to confront the girl and leaving Finn to carry the drum kit in by himself.  
"I can stay if I want to, Noah," Esther insists. "Mom said so."  
"I'll tell Mom that you listened to us practicing the really dirty song that you're not allowed to hear," Puck threatens.  
Esther shrugs, "She won't care." The siblings play chicken against each other, something they both have moderate success at, but she cracks first. "Fine, but why can't you practice a different song?"  
"She has a point," Finn speaks up, sliding the legs into his bass drum and standing it upright. "We never have a set list, you normally just scribble down what to play onto a sheet of paper five minutes before we go on stage. We can practice anything right now."  
Puck glares, but Sam plays a few chords and adds his support to that plan. Esther claps happily and takes a spot on the couch as they each prepare their instruments and settle down to play.

Mrs. Puckerman wanders into the garage half an hour into their rehearsal and watches vacantly from the doorway with a cigarette dangling from her frail fingers.  
"Would you boys like some Kool Aid?" She asks when their current song comes to an end. (Finn suspects that there is a conspiracy among the parents of friends who have known each other since they were little kids to constantly make them _feel_ like little kids at the time of their life when they're trying desperately to be mature).  
It's another warm day and the garage is hot and stuffy, so they accept the offer of refreshment. Finn stays seated behind his drums as the other two-thirds of the group reclaim the tiny couch from Esther.  
"We suck," Finn declares despondently.  
"Maybe _you_ suck, but I definitely don't suck," Puck assures.  
"You suck worst of all, Noah," The younger Puckerman opines.  
Glaring at his little sister, Puck hums the theme tune to the animated X-Men series. Esther's eyes go wide and she quickly scampers, the puffy tail of Mr. Fluffles flicking around the door frame right behind her. Finn has never learned the full story behind this exchange, but suspects it has its origins in some big brotherly abuse of operant conditioning.  
"We're gonna get laughed off stage on Saturday," Sam laments.  
"I didn't realize I was in a band with such fucking wimps," Puck snaps, standing and picking up his guitar again. "Now, you have two choices, you can sit and cry like little bitches or we can practice, get good and be total badasses on Saturday night."  
Sam rolls his eyes and slings the strap of his bass across his chest again. Puck grins maniacally and points to Finn to count them in. He isn't overly optimistic, but if they get some solid rehearsal in between now and Saturday Finn thinks they might just manage to avoid humiliating themselves in public.

* * *

The girl in charge of helping him through his trial shift is a college Sophomore who's worked the summer at Ringo's every year since she was a high school Junior. Her name is Joolie (She makes a point of the spelling). She has a nose stud, a t-shirt so baggy it could probably serve as a makeshift tent for a grade school camping trip and an attitude that she gets across to him very quickly.  
"You know how you're not getting paid for this?" She inquires with a big grin.  
"Yeah," He nods his understanding.  
"Well neither am I." The smile cracks instantly and falls into a world-weary frown that he suspects is probably her default expression, "Just try not to screw-up badly enough that it makes trouble for me, okay?"  
She teaches him the fundamentals of how the CDs are sorted, alphabetical by genre, and leaves him to it until the lunch hour. He gets by competently (Even if he does spend a lot of his time singing the alphabet in his head to make sure he's getting it right) but is often pestered by lost-looking customers asking him to identify a song or artist by a single lyric or a few hummed bars, and who expect him to know offhand if the store has a copy of the CD in stock. When he remarks upon this to Joolie in the backroom during their lunch break, she smiles thinly and cocks an eyebrow; one-upping his complaints instantly with an anecdote about a woman shrilly demanding a copy of 'that piña colada song' who simply wouldn't accept that the actual title was _Escape_. When they return from the break room she decides to teach him how to use the register, he realizes about an hour later that she's taken a liking to him when he has to ask for her help in figuring out what he's keyed in incorrectly and she doesn't make a fuss about having to stop serving her own customer to fix his mistake.

"So this is what you're missing rehearsal for? You sellout."  
Finn blinks and turns away from watching customers wander the aisles, "Puck?"  
"You giving up on our dream, Finn? You working for The Man?" The mohawked teen leans over the counter.  
"Who's this jackass?" Joolie asks blandly, flipping a page in the magazine she started reading when the current lull in activity began.  
"Puck, he plays lead guitar," Finn answers her question, then turns to his band mate. "It's just a weekend job and my shift ends at six. We don't have to be at Conrad's til seven and we don't go on til eight."  
Puck's scowl doesn't waver, but he leans away from the counter and pulls a flier from his pocket, "Just make sure you're at my house by six-thirty." He slides the flier across the counter and leaves.  
"Nice guy," Joolie remarks sarcastically, flipping through the back pages of her magazine breezily and then setting it down. "So you're in a band?"  
"Yeah," He answers succinctly.  
"You any good?" She raises both her eyebrows pointedly.  
"No," He replies honestly.  
"But you're playing tonight?" One eyebrow drops again to express her confusion.  
"Yup," He keeps up his new laconic streak.  
"Okay, whatever," She dismisses, turning to serve a stressed-looking mother of three squealing kids, who is purchasing what appears to be half the relaxation tapes the store has for sale.

By 5:45 the store is pretty much a ghost town but his shift doesn't end until six, bang on the minute, so Finn stands behind the counter and watches Joolie and Franc, another employee, take advantage of the quiet to begin sweeping the aisles.  
He's so zoned out that he's a little startled when someone calls, "Hey."  
"Oh, sorry, I-" He looks up at the same instant his mind catches up to the voice and realizes who it is, "Oh, hey Will."  
"So, how's working in a music store turning out?" Will inquires.  
"It's fun," He answers. "I'm kinda hoping I get the _actual_ job though."  
"You will," Joolie interrupts as she works her way past them with the broom. "Jack's already given you the job, he just likes to get a free day's labor out of gullible kids who haven't had a real job before."  
Finn frowns down at the counter as he thinks about her words, but in doing so notices the CDs laying there, "You wanted to buy these?" He directs his question to Will. When the older man confirms it Finn picks the first up to scan it, then smiles brightly, "I think I recognize this one."  
Light creases appear at the edges of Will's eyes and the green of his irises seems to sparkle with his smile, "I could only bear to sell some of those records by promising myself to replace them on CD. I think I'd have lasted a month without hearing _Don't Stop Believing_ before I'd have started to regret it otherwise."  
The younger man chuckles, "I listened to the album from that girl group you suggested."  
"Oh really, what did you think?"  
"It was better than I'd thought it would be. I kept setting the needle back so I could listen to _American Dream_ again and again," He enthuses.  
When the total price is rung up and Will has paid for the CDs, Finn searches for a reason for the older man to stick around, "Uh..."  
"Yes," Will prompts, turning back to the counter.  
"My band's playing tonight," Finn replies, passing across the flier that Puck had left behind. "I just thought that if you're not doing anything, maybe you'd want to come and watch."  
Will smiles as he reads through the bill, "Which band is yours?"  
"Um, the Dirty Muthafuckas," He answers, hesitant with his embarrassment. "Puck chose the name," He is quick to insist.  
The older man folds the sheet of vibrant yellow paper in half and slides it into the pocket of his slacks, "I'm sure your music will be better than your name."  
Finn snorts, "Don't count on it."  
Will grins at the self-abasing joke, "See you later, Finn."  
"Yeah, later Will," The younger man responds, the gig is looking a little brighter already.

* * *

With the amount of practice going on at the Puckerman household for the past several days, Finn had simply left his drum kit there to save himself the bother of detaching and reassembling it. So when his shift at Ringo's is over and he's received a confirmatory phone call from Jack telling him that he's now employed for every weekend shift until the end of the summer, he sprints down to the mall parking lot and drives the Aries directly back to his house.

He stomps upstairs to his room and strips out of the smart clothes he wore to work. He puts his denim jacket on over an undershirt so that he can take it off between songs if it gets too hot on stage and picks out his Doc Martens because it's easy to keep a spare set of sticks tucked into them.

He spins on the railing at the bottom of the stairs on the way down, heading into the kitchen and going directly to the freezer for a Hot Pocket.  
"Finn, honey," His mom attempts to get his attention.  
"We've got our show tonight," He answers, shutting the door to the microwave and spinning the dial to two minutes. "I'm meeting Puck at his place; I'll be back late."  
"Finn, can I speak to you for a moment," She persists patiently.  
Turning away from the microwave, he notices for the first time that his mother is dressed up. She's the kind of woman who is normally content to face the world without make-up that takes more than a minute to apply, but her hair has been styled and the dress she's wearing looks new.  
"You look nice," He compliments awkwardly.  
"I have a date tonight," She explains, the hand cupping her mug of water shakes slightly.  
"Oh," He answers. There's an uncomfortable pause and then he asks, "Who with?"  
"Burt Hummel," She replies and the reason for her hesitance becomes clear.  
"When did you...?" He lets the question trail off.  
"Your graduation ceremony," She answers anyway. "We ended up sat next to each other. He asked me out for coffee. It went well, so we decided to give it another try." There's another heavy silence filled only with the steady whir of the microwave. "Are you okay with-?"  
"Great," Finn cuts across quickly. "I'm happy. I hope you have a nice time."  
He can see her uncertainty and knows that it's justified, he's totally spooked and her news has kicked up a hornet's nest of unpleasant memories for both of them, but at that moment a shrill ding announces that his Hot Pocket is ready. He collects it and makes a mad dash out the door, stopping in the doorway just long enough to call a goodbye over his shoulder.

* * *

'Conrad's' is the name used by most young people in Lima to refer to Conrad Harmon's Lounge, Bar and Grill, mostly because very few people have the patience to use the full name in its entirety. The place is run by a traditional Irish family, of which the titular Conrad is the patriarch. Since it is traditionally run, and therefore authentic, a lot of the more ignorant patrons wouldn't notice it is an Irish-American bar for the lack of leprechauns and Riverdance tribute acts. The beer, Finn has it on good authority, is in keeping with the stereotype; but he can't test the strength and quality personally as the business has stringent measures in place to prevent underage drinking. Anyone aged 18-21 gets marked with an ugly, luminous four-leaf clover stamp at the door and the bar staff know not to serve anyone bearing such a mark. The ink is highly resistant to attempts to wash or scrub off and lasts, on average, three or four days (In high school, the stamp was considered by many to be a status symbol and the sign of a good weekend).

It's 7:45, the first of the 'local talent' bands (Helpful Corn, Finn isn't entirely sure if he wants to know the story behind that name or not. It's probably either really interesting or involves pointing blindly at a dictionary) is still playing and they've got their instruments ready to carry onstage (It's only a raised platform really) as soon as their turn comes up, so they're currently enjoying the hospitality that comes as part of their payment. Sam is gorging himself on potato wedges to quell his nerves and Puck is flirting with a busty brunette two tables over, he seems oblivious to how little progress he is making. Finn has a half-finished Sprite that he lost interest in some time ago and so is poking at the diminished ice cubes in the glass with a straw while he watches the crowd for some sign of Will.  
The older man appears on the other side of the room, similarly looking around in search of Finn. He's dressed down in jeans and a faded t-shirt, but he's still noticeably older than most of the crowd and looks a little uncomfortable. When he spots Finn he crosses directly to their table with a smile of obvious relief, "Hi."  
"Hey Will." The younger man returns the smile, "You made it then?"  
"Oh, I've been a big fan of the Dirty Muthafuckas ever since I first heard about them two hours ago and so I had to come and see them live," Will declares with mock enthusiasm and Finn snorts.  
Sam is watching the older man suspiciously, but has to swallow the large quantity of partially-masticated potato in his mouth before he can speak, "You're a friend of Finn's?"  
Will exchanges a glance with Finn, seemingly asking permission to answer in the affirmative. Although he knows it's strange, since they haven't exactly known each other long, the younger man doesn't see why the term 'friends' shouldn't apply to them and so nods subtly.  
"Yes," Will answers Sam's question. "I'm Will."  
"Sam, I play bass," He responds to the introduction. Seemingly satisfied with this, the bass player resumes plying his jaws with crispy chunks of potato.

"So, um... These guys really suck, huh?" Will gestures to Helpful Corn, whose singer has cupped a hand around the mic and so her vocals are now largely incoherent like the intercom announcements at a train station.  
Two girls from the table in front of them turn around to glare at Will and Finn can't help but laugh at the clumsy conversational cue, "They're a local band. I'm pretty sure they've picked out awful opening acts just to make the headliner's look better."  
Will grins, but admonishes Finn for his criticism, "You shouldn't talk yourself down like that."  
"You haven't heard us yet," He points out.  
Sam swallows heavily around his mouthful and chips in, "Finn's right. It's sort of impressive how much we blow."  
As if summoned by the sound of his band being dissed, Puck appeared at Finn's elbow mere seconds later, "Come help set up, they're finishing up right now."  
Will looks across to the stage, "How can you tell? It's been sounding exactly the same for the past three minutes."  
Puck frowns down at Will, "Who are you?"  
"Friend of mine," Finn intersects neatly.  
"Whatever." Puck loses interest immediately, "We're on."  
Finn glugs at his Sprite with renewed vigor and stands up to follow the lead guitarist, "Save our table for us?" He directs the request at Will.  
"Sure," The older man complies. A trio stood at the bar who have been hawk-eying their table for the past ten minutes shoot a dirty look at Will as Helpful Corn take their bows to the reluctant applause they're being given.

There was a lot of disagreement as to what their set list should be and though Finn managed to argue Puck down on a number of their less savory compositions the mohawked teen persevered on his insistence that they should play his magnum opus, _MILF Magnet,_ as their opener. The drummer keeps his head down throughout and only dares to look up again once they've reached the bridge of their second song, an entirely instrumental piece designed to show off the technical skills they're theoretically supposed to have that tends to go quite badly. He looks across to their table and sees Will tapping a foot to the steady beat he's working out of his snare drum, the older man notices that he's looking and lifts his bottle of Bud Light (Finn finds it deeply amusing that in an establishment that prides itself on the numerous quality beers it has on tap, Will ordered a popular brand from a bottle) in acknowledgment. Finn smiles across the room and returns his attention to what his hands are doing as the song approaches one of the changes that the band always seems to hit out of sync with each other.

Finn sings back-up to Puck's main vocal during their third song (_Roses are Dead, and Fuck You Too_. An angry little composition of Finn's from the summer after Sophomore year, when he was angry at Quinn, Puck and the whole world). They pause momentarily before the start of their next song and Finn uses the time to strip off his jacket, take a few refreshing chugs from his water bottle and wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. When he looks across to Will, he notices that a lady has joined the table. She's older than most of the people here, but still a few years younger than Will. She's sitting with her body leaning towards the older man and it's obvious even from this distance that she's interested.

The drummer keeps an eye on his friend and the flirtatious woman throughout the next three songs and although he has to turn away from time to time he still manages to witness the steady progression of events. She goes from keen and interested, to twirling a finger through her dark hair with obvious boredom, to making up an excuse and leaving the table in the space of their three short songs. Finn had convinced himself that the man from the personals ad had seen through Santana's hoax message and never gone to the diner, that Will's powder blue sweater vest was totally coincidental and he wasn't the same guy; but after having witnessed his friend strike out so thoroughly Finn has to accept that he may have been wrong.  
"Where are you going?" Puck hisses as he rubs his plec on the front of his shirt to clear off the finger smudges.  
"I'll just be a minute," Finn assures, setting his sticks down.  
"Dude, we're in the middle of a performance right now. You can't just _leave_."  
"Play _Battle in the School Yard_, you can do that one without me," Finn suggests, already stepping down from the raised platform and heading over to Will. _Battle in the School Yard_ is an experimental piece Sam put together when he first joined the band (Which at the time had only been him and Puck, so really Sam joining had _made_ them a band and not just two guys who liked to rock out together in the garage), it's played between two guitars with the concept that each instrument is opposing the other; like a fight. Finn hates it and thinks it's the worst song in their repertoire, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  
"Hey," He takes the seat next to Will.  
"Hey." Will turns away from watching the bar despondently, "Aren't you supposed to be on stage?"  
"They don't need me for this song," He explains. "So, what was with you and that woman?"  
"You saw that, huh?" Will remarks, taking a pull from his beer with deep melancholy. "I'm not very good at talking to women," He supplies after a heavy pause.  
Finn frowns, "Weren't you married?"  
"For five years," Will confirms, "With her for twelve years before that. I was with her so long that I don't how to flirt with other women."  
"How can you not know how to flirt?" Finn queries, bewildered.  
"She was my high school sweetheart," He remarks with a wistful sigh. "So all the techniques I used to get her to go out with me aren't much use now. If I try carrying someone's book to class for them I'm likely to end up on some kind of register."  
"I'll teach you," Finn declares.  
"Huh?" Will pauses with the bottle half way to his mouth.  
"To pay you back for giving me those records; I'll help you find a date," He elaborates cheerfully.  
"I don't know if that's-"  
"Stick around, okay?" The drummer requests as he hears the end of Puck and Sam's guitar duet approaching, "I have to finish off our set but then I'll be back."

The Dirty Muthafuckas accept their applause (More enthusiastic than that given to Helpful Corn, but not by much) at the end of their set and Sam helps Finn make the simple detachments that allow him to carry the drum kit off the stage. He disassembles it fully once they're out of the way so that the next group can start setting up and then they head out the back door to load their instruments into the back of Puck's truck. Covering it over with heavy tarpaulin (To keep out any possible rain and to make it less obvious to potential thieves), they head back inside to take in the upcoming performances.

Sam orders an ice water from the bar and disappears to hang out with some friends from his part-time job at Pizza Fleet (Lima's best known E. Coli phone delivery service masquerading as a fast food chain) and Puck resumes flirting with any girl foolish enough to actually acknowledge him. Finn returns to the table and finds Will has a second bottle of Bud and that there is a full glass of Sprite waiting at Finn's spot.  
"You brought me a drink?" Finn questions.  
"Think of it more as a bribe," Will answers.  
"A bribe for what?"  
"To not ask me embarrassing questions about my romantic life," The older man answers.  
"Does that mean you're going to let me help you?"  
Will sighs, "If my utter failure at chatting up women is visible even to a kid your age, I suppose I can accept help from a kid your age."  
"Cool." Finn sips at the teeth-achingly cold soda. "So, when did you last get laid?"  
Will meets the question with a stony expression, "I want the soda back."  
"Okay fine." Finn holds his palms up and grins cheekily. He presses forward, "I just meant, are you looking for an actual relationship or just a hook-up because the rules are totally different."  
"I suppose you're some high school Casanova who would know all about these things," Will remarks sardonically.  
"No, that would be Captain Hard-on over there." Finn gestures across the room to Puck, who is miming cunnilingus to a disturbed looking college girl.  
"A relationship," The older man answers the question after a slight pause. "I'm not a one-night-stand kind of guy."  
"Okay, that's good," Finn answers. "So we're looking to find you a date." At the word he suddenly remembers the date his mom is on at that moment and balks.  
"Finn?" Will asks with concern.  
"It's nothing," The young man assures, shaking it off. "What time do you finish work normally?"  
"Uh," Will is a bit thrown off by the non-sequitur, but answers, "About five."  
"Okay, I'll put some ideas together and stop by your place at six on Monday to begin Operation Datenight," Finn declares.  
Will shakes his head fondly and sips at his drink, "Okay."

The conversation turns to the group on stage (An all female band calling themselves The Guise, which must surely attract a lot of confusion) and transitions easily into more of the musical discussion they've been sharing every time they meet up. When Will remarks upon his surprise at the usage of Blue Oyster Cult's _(Don't Fear) The Reaper_ for a recent movie preview (For what looks to be a truly awful, buddy cop flick with the gimmick being that one of the cops is really Death in disguise) Finn asks what he'd gone to the theater to see and the conversation neatly expands to discussing films and television.

They leave after the headlining act have finished their opening song (They're not actually called Prissy Little Nice Guys, but sadly Puck's insult is rather accurate). Sam and Finn have to carry Puck between them because the lead guitarist has, once again, hit on a girl while her beefy boyfriend is two feet away and earned himself a bloody nose and a bout of dizziness.  
"Is he gonna be okay?" Will inquires as Sam buckles Puck into the passenger seat of his truck.  
"I'll take him home. If he hurts in the morning it's his own fault," Finn answers, having run out of sympathy for Noah Puckerman's libido-induced injuries long ago.  
"So, Monday?" The older man prompts.  
"At six," Finn confirms.  
"I'll make extra meatloaf." Will smiles, turning round to head off to his own car.

When he goes to bed that night there's a small voice at the back of Finn's mind that points out he's just added another task to the list of things he's got to do this summer, there's another that questions why Finn is so interested in whether or not Will is dating anybody. He punches his pillow and firmly commands both voices to shut up.

* * *

Coming back from his 'morning' shower at 1:30 on Sunday afternoon, Finn notices the blinking light of the answering machine on his bedside cabinet. Pressing the button to play back the messages, he sits on the edge of the bed to towel off his hair.

The first message is from Jack, reminding him that he needs to stop by the store at some point today to deal with some necessary paperwork before he can start his first paid shift next Saturday.  
The second message is from Puck, enthusing about the previous night's performance and telling him that Conrad has booked them to play a two hour set next Friday.  
The third message is from Quinn, indignantly demanding to know why she wasn't informed about the previous night's performance, asking him to call back and explain himself.

Falling back onto the bed and miming a gunshot to the frontal lobe, Finn sighs heavily to himself and forces himself back into an upright position so that he can pick up the phone and fix the latest fuck-up with his girlfriend.  
"Hello?"  
"Hey Quinn," He greets pleasantly, throwing the towel he'd been drying his hair with in the direction of the laundry hamper.  
"Oh, it's you," She replies with muted enthusiasm. "So why didn't you tell me you were playing at Conrad's last night?"  
"Because you never want to come along to our shows," He answers straightforwardly. He'd invited her along to their early gigs and she'd even shown up at a few of them, but it didn't take long for him to get the message that she wasn't interested in the band and so he stopped the invitations.  
"Well you aren't normally playing somewhere cool," She retorts. "I had to hear about it from Mercedes Jones. Do you know how embarrassing it was for me?"  
"Um, no?" He offers lamely.  
"You're my boyfriend, Finn. I shouldn't have to hear about what you're doing from other people," She asserts. "I've hardly seen you since the summer started."  
"I've been busy," He argues blandly. "Look, we'll get together and do something soon; okay?"  
"Today?" She challenges.  
"Uh..." He makes a mental list of the things he has to do today: stop by Ringo's to sign those forms, get some ideas together to help Will, finish the assigned reading for US History since he's not gonna have time tomorrow night, the laundry hamper is starting to overflow so he should probably do something about that too... "Today's not really a good time."  
"Tomorrow then?" She suggests, sounding a little deflated.  
"No, I've got a thing I'm doing tomorrow," He dismisses.  
"A thing?" She repeats derisively.  
"Yeah, just a thing with a friend," He continues vaguely.  
"Who?"  
"Will," He answers. "The guy from that party, I... I don't think you met him, but he's cool."  
"And you're blowing me off to hang out with him?" She demands harshly.  
"I made plans to hang out with him first," He insists. "I'd be blowing _him_ off to hang out with _you_."  
"I guess it's nice to know where your priorities lie," She remarks witheringly.  
"I'm free Tuesday," He declares bluntly. "I'll take you to Breadsticks; you can have a starter, dessert, the works. My treat."  
There's a short pause and then Quinn answers, voice softer than before, "That sounds great."  
"So, uh, I'm sorry if I've not been around very much," He stumbles through an apology.  
"No, it's-" She stops short, they're both aware of the awkwardness that comes after an argument. "I know you're busy with stuff, it's fine."  
"So I'll see you on Tuesday?" He prompts, the tension draining away from their exchange.  
"Yes," She answers plainly, but he can hear the trace of a smile in the word. "Love you."  
"I love you too," He echoes readily and doesn't bother to question whether he means it as he puts the phone back in its cradle, (He's been asking the question of himself a lot recently and he's tired of not having the answer).

He goes downstairs to the kitchen and smothers two bagels in cream-cheese, then carries them through to the lounge in search of his mom. He finds her curled up on the end of the couch with a paperback romance novel; she looks up as he enters the room.  
"Try not to make a mess dear," She remarks with a pointed look towards the bagels (Though frankly, no mess he makes can hope to match the great potato chip debacle of '94).  
"How did your date go?" He asks, taking a seat at the other end of the couch and balancing the plate on his knees.  
She looks up from the page again warily, then back to it before she answers, "It went well, I think."  
Finn nods and takes a few bites of bagel before he asks his next question, "Are you going to be seeing him again?"  
She delays her answer with the turn of a page, "I hope so."  
"So, you're not sure?" He infers.  
His mother sighs and dogears the book before she closes it. Setting it down on the side table, she picks up the bottle of nail polish sitting there and shakes it thoroughly. "If you have a problem with me seeing Burt, just say so."  
"I don't have a problem," He insists.  
Lifting a foot up onto the couch, she delicately paints a second coat onto the nail of her big toe before looking up at him to continue the conversation, "I know you weren't exactly comfortable with it before, but I'd hoped you'd be past that by now."  
"I don't have a problem with it," He repeats petulantly.  
"Okay then," She accepts his answer placidly and he can see that she isn't convinced.

Finn chews through his plate of bagels while his mom neatly finishes with the nail polish.  
"Did you know that Kurt's going to UCLA?" She prompts, lifting her feet onto the footstool and wiggling her freshly painted toes with satisfaction.  
"No," He answers succinctly.  
"He wants to major in Theater Arts," She continues. "Burt says he's really excited."  
Finn hums in mild acknowledgment and bites his tongue on all remarks about his terribly limited capacity to care about Kurt freakin' Hummel.  
"I told him how you're planning to go to OSU," She remarks. "That is still your plan, right?"  
"Yeah," He replies. "I've just gotta finish up with summer school first."  
She nods to herself and the conversation peters out. Finn finishes the last bite of his lunch and heads round the back of the couch.  
"I've gotta go see my new boss about some forms or something," He informs, shouting over his shoulder as he carries the plate through to the kitchen and sets it down with the rest of the unwashed dishes. He pokes his head back into the lounge, "Need me to pick anything up while I'm at the mall?"  
She's started reading the novel again and so doesn't turn away from it as she answers, "I'm all out of pantyhose."  
"Ew, Mom." He wrinkles his nose with distaste.  
At that point she looks up from the book and laughs at his expression, "No. You're free of my errands until the next time a fuse blows," She informs.  
Finn smiles, leans down over the back of the couch so she can kiss him goodbye and then he leaves her to the torrid love affair of Rodolfo and Mimi.

* * *

On Monday morning Ms. Defoe declares that they've finished the technique honing section of their course (Finn still feels decidedly _un_honed) and are ready to progress to producing true pieces of art.  
"For the next four weeks you will be working exclusively to produce a piece that you feel defines your own identity and fits the theme of this unit. You may work on projects outside of the classroom as well and you are free to create as many as you like, though only one may be entered for grading. At the end of the course, the three best works will be displayed at the Art and Culture festival." The teacher pauses and timidly tightens her scrunchie before continuing. "These supplies," She taps the edge of a trolley bearing paints, inks, oils, pastels and collage materials, "have been provided by the school for your use. They will not be replaced, so I am asking you to treat them maturely and responsibly." Stepping away from the supply trolley and collecting a Polaroid camera from her desk, she turns to face the class once again. "Those of you who have an idea of what you might like to create are free to start today. Anybody who is unsure should come to me for a photograph of themselves and spend the lesson recreating it using different mediums."

By the end of the lesson Finn has copied out the poorly-lit Polaroid of himself using graphite pencil, colored pencil, ink and acrylic paint. He cuts out each image and glues them onto a fresh sheet of paper in a 2x2 arrangement; a mimicry of the Pop Art image of Marylin Monroe he's seen hanging in Dr. Howell's waiting room. Brittany draws herself riding on a taco shell being pulled by two dolphins, Ms. Defoe asks if it is an homage to _The Birth of Venus_; the former-cheerleader has never heard of it. Tina C painstakingly scratches out her image on an ink stain and remarks, when asked to comment, that it is in reference to how she often feels invisible; as the image of herself is only visible on the page because the ink is there to bring it out. Ms. Defoe praises her highly and the Asian girl's status as teacher's pet is confirmed.

Once they're done for the day, Finn drops Brittany off at her new job; waitress at a cybercafe on the corner of Oakland Parkway. (He doesn't understand the concept of combining caffeine and 56K dial-up but suspects the answer might be a conspiracy by some shady organization to give white collar office workers stress related heart attacks when they drop in on their lunch hour). She's a little nervous so he buys a blueberry muffin and picks it to pieces at the counter for 45 minutes so he can talk her through giving correct change. (She isn't stupid enough to not know how much change to give from a five dollar bill, but Brittany gets performance anxiety when called upon to perform basic math in the way most people would right before entering the Colosseum to face down a lion). Once she seems to have found her feet, he bids goodbye and heads home to finish off the reading for History class that he didn't manage to complete the night before.

* * *

The interior of Will's apartment block keeps up the same minimalist, cubist style used for the architecture. The walls are painted in neutral tones and feature framed prints of famous landscape paintings to break the monotony and provide a pleasant atmosphere. Finn walks past the two downstairs apartments and the wall prints, taking the curved stairs at the back of the hall up to the second floor.

Will answers the door to apartment no. 7 promptly when Finn knocks and the younger man observes the latest side of his new friend. He's seen the older man in his formal slacks and sweater vests, seen him in relaxed jeans and a t-shirt; but it's the first time he's seen the intermediary stage. Will's still wearing the shirt and vest he wore to work, but the tie is gone, the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up. He wonders again how such an attractive man is having difficulty finding a date.  
"Hey," Will smiles easily and stands aside to let him in.  
"Hi," Finn returns the greeting and slides his backpack off his shoulder so that he can take his jacket off.  
Will relieves him of the jacket promptly, hanging it up on a coat stand to one side of the door. "Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes," He says.  
Finn blinks and recalls Will's promise about the meatloaf, he'd assumed it was a joke, "You made me dinner?"  
"You've already eaten?" The older man infers from his reaction.  
He has, but there's a difference between 'not hungry' and 'completely full' and since he turned fourteen and grew six inches almost overnight that difference has been a vast canyon inside of Finn; so he answers, "No. I could eat. I was just surprised you'd bother."  
"It wasn't a problem," Will assures, crossing through to the lounge and dropping down into one of the armchairs. "I like cooking."  
Finn follows the older man and thinks back to the copy of _Bon Appétit _Santana unearthed in the mailbox. Clearly the publication is mailed under Will's name, but that leaves the younger man wondering about the other issues they'd found in the mailbox and which of the apartment's two occupants they were for.

Bryan is laid out in front of the television, socked feet up on the coffee table and a half-empty glass of Cisco held in a loose grasp. An episode of CSI is playing so the three men watch the fictional scientists dusting for prints and running UV light over a crime scene in companionable silence until a timer goes off in the other room and Will gets up to see to it.  
The show goes to a commercial break and Bryan looks over for the first time since Finn has arrived, "Yard sale guy," He greets pleasantly.  
"Finn," The younger man reminds.  
Bryan waves his hand in a lazy, discarding motion. "So what are you doing here?"  
Understanding that Will's situation has the potential to be embarrassing, Finn keeps his response vague. "Just hanging out," He replies with a shrug.  
"A high school kid just hanging out at the apartment of a couple of guys in their 30s?" Bryan queries wryly.  
"I'm not in high school," He answers, (Technically true; summer school's not the same thing) to avoid the point of the question. The older man accepts the response, drains the lingering drops of wine in his glass and then sets it down on the coffee table.

Standing up, he directs Finn to follow him through to the dining room and gives a friendly warning not to take more than his fair share of the mashed potatoes. Doing so proves difficult, because apparently Will has stolen ambrosia from the Heavens and added it to the humble side dish.  
"This is amazing," He enthuses after the first mouthful.  
"Thank you," The cook answers humbly, flushing a little from the praise. "It's really just a matter of getting the right concentration of milk and butter."  
Finn would expand his vocal appreciation of the meal further, but Bryan is hoovering up the food on his plate and so the young man knows to make a start on his own meal or else he'll lose out on seconds.

At the end of the meal, Bryan returns to the lounge to catch the end of the CSI episode and Finn volunteers to assist with the washing up.  
"You don't have to do that," Will assures as he collects the cutlery.  
"It's the least I can do," Finn insists, stacking the plates and carrying them through to the kitchen.  
As Will loads the knives and forks into the cutlery basket, Finn rinses each plate in the sink before laying it on one of the dishwasher's racks (A habit ingrained in him by his mom).  
"This is gonna be so easy," The younger man remarks as they work.  
"What do you mean?" Will asks uncertainly.  
"You're handsome, you dress well, you can cook. If you can get over your boob-induced speech impediment then women will be falling over themselves to date you," He explains.  
The older man ducks his head abashedly as he adds a tablet to the detergent drawer, "I'm nothing special."  
"No, you are," Finn insists. "I'll prove it to you. We'll write a list of all the cool things about you, that way you'll know how to impress a girl when she asks you about yourself."

The list, written on a sheet of paper torn from Finn's notebook, starts with the three points he's already made. Will returns to the dining room with a mug of green tea for himself and a coke for his companion, taking the seat beside the younger man he eyes the list dubiously.  
"So," Finn remarks, punctuating his comment by tapping his pen against the paper. "What hobbies do you have besides cooking?"  
"Well..." The older man frowns, his forehead wrinkling with the familiar expression of someone wracking their brain for an answer. "I sometimes take part in local theater productions."  
"Okay, that's good." Finn writes down 'Acting'. "What else?"  
"Dancing," He answers after another short pause.  
"What kind?"  
"Huh?"  
"Like, ballroom dancing or getting dirty out on the dance floor?" Finn says for clarification.  
"The latter," Will chooses instantly.  
The younger man pauses for a moment, a little blindsided, then decides that while he can't quite conjure up a mental image of it; he's willing to take Will at his word. He adds 'Dancing/Getting funky' to the list, "Anything else?"  
"Not that I can think of," Will answers, sipping at his tea.  
"Okay, how about your job," Finn suggests. "What do you do?"  
"I'm an accountant," The older man answers promptly.  
The young man bites his lip and crosses out where he has started writing 'Job', "Okay, moving on."  
"Hey!" Will declares with false-offense. "Numbers can be sexy."  
Finn only knows one number that he would define as sexy, but they're gonna have to focus on getting a woman into Will's bed before positions will become relevant. "I'm considering crossing 'cool' off the list."  
"You didn't put 'cool' on the list yet," Will points out.  
"Then I guess I was one step ahead," Finn teases, taking a gulp from his coke. The older man narrows his eyes at the teasing, but clearly doesn't take it to heart. Finn's actually a little surprised at how easily the two of them have formed a friendship that allows for playful banter. "So do you have any skills?" He asks and takes up the pen again.  
"I play guitar," Will answers, "And I speak Spanish."  
"Seriously?" Finn questions. When the other man nods, he challenges him, "Say something in Spanish."  
"La casa de la izquierda tiene dos ventanas." The words roll easily off Will's tongue.  
Finn stares dumbly and ignores the warmth blooming low in his belly, "What does that mean?"  
"The house on the left has two windows," The older man translates with a charming grin.  
The young man reflects on how a phrase that simple can sound so sexy (Lips parting, tongue rolling, voice purring) and wishes he'd payed enough attention during his own language classes to be able to emulate the effect. He scribbles down 'Guitar' and 'Spanish', then reviews the list, "Anything else you want to add?"  
Will sets his cup down, "I can't think of anything else."  
"Okay." Finn underlines the list with a flourish and slides it across to the older man.  
Will reads it over, squinting slightly, "'Texy'?"  
"That says 'sexy'," The younger man corrects.  
"That's an S?" Will turns the page left and right trying to decipher it.  
"That's an S," Finn insists firmly. "Look, just read that every night before you go to bed."  
Putting down the sheet of paper, the older man looks across to his adviser with a bewildered expression, "Why?"  
"It'll remind you of all the things that make you a great guy. One that any woman would be lucky to have," Finn explains. "No woman will like you if you don't like yourself. Self-esteem is one of the most attractive qualities to women," The younger man explains.  
"Where did you learn that?"  
(The self-destructive spiral of despair I entered for six months after my girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend), "Just something I heard," He lies casually.

He asks Will about his standard approach to chatting up a woman and offers a few suggestions on topics to avoid (Most vitally, do not drop the bomb about his career until he's actually on a date). The conversation meanders away from time to time, but they pull it back on track by discussing the type of woman Will is looking for; and in doing so Finn learns a lot about the ex-Mrs. Schuester because Will seems to start every point on his list of desirable traits with 'Terri used to...' and end it with '...but by the end of our relationship, she'd just changed so much.'

When the evening comes to an end Finn scribbles his telephone number down on another sheet of paper torn from his notebook.  
"If you need some advice, I'm available-" Some quick mental arithmetic, "-about four hours out of every day," He finishes honestly. "But the machine will pick up if I'm not there and I promise to call back asap if you need my help," He promises.  
Will smiles and tears the bottom of the page off, writing his own number down and handing it back to Finn. "So you can tell me if you have any more bright ideas about how to get me a date," He teases. "Or if you just want to come over some time, you're welcome any evening."  
The young man tucks the scrap of paper into the pocket of his jeans. "Hey, I'm supposed to be spending my evenings getting you laid."  
Will rolls his eyes as Finn pulls on his jacket and opens the front door, "I'm going to regret letting you help me, aren't I?" He remarks casually leaning in the doorway.  
The younger man laughs at the dry remark and bids goodbye, humming cheerily to himself as he heads downstairs and out the main door. He doesn't know at the time that Will's parting shot will come back to haunt him months later.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow Finn managed to get a 73 on the first US History test, it isn't a brilliant grade but he feels it is a good starting point. Of course, even from the best starting point there is the potential for things to go wrong. With his date with Quinn on Tuesday and the 4th of July celebrations of Wednesday, when Finn goes into school on the day of the second test he hasn't picked up his textbook outside of class since Sunday.

Fortunately for Finn, the number of study hours the class is scheduled to take before they can be made to sit the test clashes strangely with the summer school timetable and so the US History class get to spend the first two hours of their day in the library. Finn spends the time frantically going over his class notes and dreading the examination that awaits him. During the test he forgets the dates for the Battle of Shiloh and the name of the Union commander at the Battle of Gettysburg. He tries to make up for it in the long answer question about how slavery was a factor in secession, recalling Mr. O'Neill's advice for writing literature essays, (That sometimes you have to look at what the question _isn't_ asking as much as what it is) he applies the same technique and writes not only about slavery, but also everything he remembers about sectionalism, States' rights, 'Free Soil', the election of Lincoln and the Battle of Fort Sumter. It is the longest answer Finn's ever given in a History test and the only time he's ever exceeded the suggested answer length. He hopes it'll be enough.

Ms. Defoe wants everybody to bring their current project to class tomorrow and unless he throws something together before then, Finn's going to be presenting the classic 'invisible man in a snowstorm'. Puck wants another rehearsal of his latest composition (_Ten Inches_) so they'll be ready to perform it at Conrad's. The laundry hamper is so far beyond overflowing that it isn't even funny. Despite these facts when Finn gets home, he kicks off his sneakers, pulls his sweaty polo shirt from sticking to his back; then yanks it off over his head and collapses onto his welcoming mattress in his sweatpants and socks.

He wakes from his nap a few hours later feeling grottier than he had before he fell asleep because of the stifling air in the room and how hot it is, his skin feels like it's been dipped in honey. He kicks his pants off and throws them in the direction of the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry, then crosses through to the bathroom. He stays under the refreshing spray of the shower until the water begins to run so cold that it's unpleasant.

Returning to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, he throws open the window to tempt in a breeze and then unearths an antique electric fan from the assortment of junk beneath his bed. He sets the device up to clear the choking atmosphere of his bedroom and redresses in the sweatpants and the only clean shirt he still has in his dresser. Aware that the laundry situation has reached critical mass, he gathers up the pile of wrinkled clothing that has become a small mountain in the corner and spends half an hour separating out the clothes by color, fabric and most in need of an immediate wash. When the sorting is done, he takes the primary laundry pile down to the utility room and loads it all into the machine.

He watches cartoons in the lounge as the machine goes through its cycle, then transfers the first load into the tumble dryer. He collects the next load from his room and starts the washer up again, then heads back to the front room to resume watching TV. He browses the listings until he finds an afternoon flick that has a reasonable write-up, he comes into it twenty minutes late but manages to piece enough of the plot together to enjoy the rest.

His mom arrives home as he's ironing the largest creases out of the first load, while the second load is still in the dryer. She peers into the utility room and watches him curiously, "You're doing laundry?"  
"I need clean clothes for tomorrow night," He rationalizes.  
Seeming to accept this as more plausible than her son having developed an onset appreciation for doing housework, she accepts the answer. "Dinner should be about an hour," She informs, turning away and leaving him to his work. He manages to finish the ironing and put his freshly-laundered clothes back in his dresser just in time to head downstairs and eat the meal his mom's prepared.

When he heads back up to his room after dinner the fan is still running and the air is pleasantly cool. The light on the answering machine is blinking so Finn presses the button and listens to Puck's profane tirade directed at him for not having shown up to practice. Finn considers calling back, but decides it'll be easier to stop by the Puckerman household after school tomorrow and rehearse the new number then. With his mind turned to their set at Conrad's, Finn digs around in the drawer of his desk for the scrap of paper Will had given him on Monday and dials the older man's number.  
"Yo."  
For a second he thinks he's dialed the wrong number, then he recognizes the voice, "Bryan?"  
"Oh. Yard sale guy." Finn wonders idly if Will's roommate is genuinely bad with names or just trying to be a pain in the ass.  
"Is Will there?" Finn requests.  
There's a muted yell of 'Schuester, phone!' and then Will answers, "Hello?"  
"Hey Will." Finn settles on the edge of the bed and twines his fingers in the blankets distractedly. "My band's playing at Conrad's again tomorrow night and I wondered if you wanted to come see us play."  
"Are you the only ones playing?" The older man asks and the undertone of wariness isn't as well hidden as he probably thinks it is.  
"I wish," Finn snorts. "No, we're not quite good enough to be headlining. We're splitting the bill with that chick band, The Guise." (Puck is irritably perky about this turn-up and Finn suspects he is going to have to stop another conversation with amps being used as an unsavory metaphor for genitalia).  
"So you're not going to abandon me all night," Will surmises.  
"I'll be free to hang for some of the time," Finn agrees. "But, hey, this could be your chance to put my lessons to the test."  
"What lessons? You gave me a self-esteem manifesto, taught me how to offer to buy someone a drink and told me that my chosen profession is a universal turn-off," Will summarizes sardonically.  
The young man pointedly ignores the teasing, "So will you come?"  
"I don't see why not," Will decides.  
"Cool." Finn gives the time that his band will be playing, listens to a humorous anecdote about Will's frustratingly incompetent colleague and hangs up the phone with a wide grin on his face.

He takes the phone out of the cradle again a few moments later to call Quinn and tell her about the performance, ignoring the mocking voice in his head asking why his girlfriend is the _second_ person he's calling.

* * *

"I kinda thought we were gonna be in the green room," Quinn complains, arms folded over her chest.  
"I don't think this place _has_ a green room," Finn justifies their position on a table at the edge of the stage.  
"Whatever," His girlfriend dismisses, pulling her hair back.  
"I wanted to see the leprechauns," Brittany laments quietly, sucking up her soda with a bendy straw.  
Santana blew them off for who-even-knows, Sam's suffering another of his postponed hangovers and so has his forehead glued to the tabletop and Puck is too busy watching the all-female band on stage to take part in the conversation.  
"So, this is fun," Quinn remarks sarcastically.  
Finn sighs. It seems somewhat paradoxical that they had so much to say to each other when they were all in school together and yet now that they're each off doing other things they don't have any stories to tell one another.  
"How long til you're on?" Brittany questions.  
"Five minutes less than the last time you asked," Finn answers sharply. He runs a hand through his hair again in frustration, displacing the style he'd neatly combed it into earlier that evening even further; but he's beyond caring about it.  
On stage, The Guise reach the end of the their current number and take a quick break before starting the next one. Puck wolf-whistles at the group's lead singer. Finn wonders whether Santana would care that her occasional boyfriend doesn't seem to have noticed she isn't here; he suspects that the Latina is distancing herself from Puck slowly as her imminent move to Rhode Island draws closer.

"Hey Finn."  
The young man looks up at the sound of his name and smiles for the first time in half an hour, "Hey Will, you made it."  
The older man nods and looks around the crowded table for an empty seat. Finn shifts his own seat over and stands up to bring a chair across from one of the less-populated tables nearby.  
"Guys, this is Will," Finn introduces. "Will, this is Brittany and my girlfriend, Quinn. You already know Puck and Sam."  
Sam lifts his head up from the table long enough to say hello and then thunks back down with a groan. Puck looks round and quirks an eyebrow to acknowledge the new arrival, then turns back to ogling the girl belting out a high note about rebelling against the corrupt authority who are oppressing the free-minded youth masses.  
"It's nice to meet you," Will inclines his head towards the girls, smiling politely. Brittany stares vacantly while Quinn smiles thinly and taps her nails on the tabletop. The older man visibly squirms and turns his attention back to Finn. "That's, uh, that's a cool t-shirt."  
Finn looks down at the Deep Purple t-shirt he uncovered during the mass laundry session of the previous day and smiles, "Yeah. It was my dad's."  
"Doesn't it fit him anymore?" Will inquires.  
There's a heavy uncomfortable silence. "My dad's dead," Finn answers.  
"Oh." Will's expression flickers to somber like the flip of a switch and he stands up quickly to make a retreat,"I'm just gonna grab a drink."  
"So that's your friend, huh?" Quinn remarks when the older man has gone.  
"He didn't know," Finn defends.  
"My point exactly," She argues. "You can't have known this guy very long if he doesn't even know the basic things about you."  
He bristles, (Will may not know every little detail about him, but at least he and Will can stand to be in the same room without arguing) and stands up sharply, "I'm going to go talk to him."

He finds Will at the bar waiting for his order to be served, from the look on his face when Finn approaches he'd probably have run off without the incentive of waiting for his drink to keep him there.  
"It's not a big deal," The young man insists, leaning on the bar beside his friend and looking forward as he speaks. "He died when I was a baby."  
"It's a big deal," Will insists. "I'm not looking to be someone's father figure, okay?"  
Finn blinks and then laughs sharply, "Is that what you think this is? Believe me, my mom's had half a dozen men trying to be a father figure to me since I was a kid and I learned quickly I can do without one. I want to be your friend, that's all."  
The older man looks over at him, "Just friends?" He questions, bright green eyes searching for something.  
"I'll be your friend and your wingman if you ever need it," Finn declares, smiling brightly and holding a hand out. "That's all."  
Will takes the hand, then pulls Finn forward into a hug. The younger man is startled at first, but then eases into it and pats Will on the back until the embrace breaks.

As they turn to head back to the table, Finn collides with someone heading up to the bar.  
"Sorry," He apologizes immediately as he helps to steady the stranger. Then he takes in the silk shirt and the primly cut bangs and realizes that it isn't a stranger after all.  
"Fancy running into you in a place like this," Kurt remarks, one eyebrow rising with smooth control.  
"Hello Kurt," Finn greets politely, letting go of the other boy abruptly.  
"So, how are you doing?" Kurt inquires stiffly, dropping a hand to his hip and giving him a once over.  
"Good," He answers brusquely. "You?"  
"Also good..." The shorter boy looks across to Will, then the other side of Finn to see who else might be accompanying him. "Well, I should be going," Kurt steps round him. "It was nice to see you."  
"Yeah, and you," Finn answers.  
"So who was that?" Will inquires, having been stood on the periphery of the exchange.  
"My mom's boyfriend's son," He answers.  
"And the reason for all that tension is?"  
"A long story," Finn answers the prompt.  
"Okay, you don't have to tell me," Will remarks, shrugging nonchalantly.  
"Fine," Finn sighs as they sit back down at their table. Puck and Sam are both still oblivious to the conversations going on around them, Quinn and Brittany have gone to the bathroom and the music is so loud that there's little chance of anybody overhearing. If there's a time to talk about this, it's now. "My mom and his dad got together towards the end of our Sophomore year. I didn't mind that Mom had a new boyfriend, but Kurt was... He had a crush on me." Will's eyebrows rise with intrigue, but he doesn't interrupt. "I didn't have a problem with the fact that he was gay, I mean; that's his business, but I told him I wasn't interested and he didn't listen."  
"So what did you do?"  
"I didn't do anything," He insists. "But I mentioned it to some of the guys from the football team and they decided to act on my behalf. They pushed him against lockers, threw his books in the pool, egged his house; stuff like that. I told them to lay off, but they wouldn't listen to me. Anyway, his dad came round our house one night after all their lawn furniture had been nailed to the roof of their house and he accused me of being a part of it. I argued back, Mom stood up for me and that was the end of their relationship; torn apart protecting their stupid kids."  
Will frowns and pats Finn's shoulder reassuringly, "But you said they were dating now?"  
"Yeah, they got back together this summer," He replies. "That's sorta the worst part."  
The older man's frown deepens, "I don't understand."  
"It's like, now that I've graduated and I'm not gonna be around anymore, they're getting back together. Does that mean that I'm the only thing that's been standing between my mom and happiness? Has taking care of me all my life been holding her back?" He exhales heavily, but it feels good to voice his thoughts and fears aloud. "I feel so lousy when I think about it."  
Will's hand on his shoulder squeezes. "If she chose to stand up for you despite the problems it caused her, that was her decision."  
"But what if-?"  
"Don't start with 'what if?'," Will asserts. "I walked the long road of 'what if?' when my marriage fell apart. 'What if I'd been home more?', 'What if we'd been to a counselor?', 'What if her sister wasn't a massive bitch?'. It doesn't get you anywhere, Finn."  
The young man forces a smile, "It still sucks."  
"Yes it does," Will agrees, holding his bottle aloft so they can toast the sentiment.  
"What's with the man-loving?" Quinn remarks, slipping into her seat.  
"Male bonding, you wouldn't understand," Finn jokes. She narrows her eyes at him in return, so he slides his chair towards hers and settles an arm round her shoulders reassuringly.

The Guise finish their first hour and clear the stage so that the Dirty Muthafuckas can play the first half of their set. Sam moans at the loss of the cold wood against his throbbing forehead and Puck is too busy trying to chat up the lead singer of the other band to help Finn with his drums. He checks over the confusing percussion notation he took down earlier in Puck's garage and then hesitantly plays out the opening drum line to _Ten Inches_.

He repeats his actions from a week before and keeps an eye on Will as much as he can throughout their performance. The older man vanishes from the table some time during _I Wanna Fuck Buffy the Vampire Slayer _(Three guesses who wrote that one, and the first two don't count) and Finn doesn't catch sight of him again until _Lima Loser _when he realizes that he's talking to a woman at the bar. He grins and beats out his solo with more enthusiasm than is needed.

Will and the woman escape from Finn's view again as the Dirty Muthafuckas first hour comes to a close and so, as The Guise come back on for the second half of their set, he heads over to the table.  
"Did you see where Will went?" He asks.  
Quinn stops flicking peanut shells across the tabletop and looks up at him witheringly, "No."  
"I saw him with a woman in a Radiohead shirt," Brittany answers. "She had black hair though, shouldn't he find a woman with red hair?" Finn feels a stab of concern when he realizes that the ditzy blonde has recognized Will from the prank at the diner, but Quinn seems to dismiss the comment as another of Brittany's peculiar musings.  
"Somebody kill me," Sam pleads, laying back in his chair with his head hanging over the back.  
Quinn's lips purse in concern and she holds a palm to his forehead, "You're burning up." She reaches down for her handbag and pulls the reluctant bassist to his feet.  
"Where are you going?" Puck demands.  
"To get him some fresh air," She answers firmly, not at all intimidated by his effort to act as a human wall between her and the exit. "And some aspirin from the drug store on the corner. Don't worry, I'll have him back before you have to go back on."  
"Well, just make sure you do," Puck declares lamely, stepping aside.

When Puck leaves to order a drink and leer at The Guise from the sidelines it leaves Finn and Brittany alone at the table.  
"I saved you some red ones," The blonde remarks, passing a packet of Skittles across to him. "It was hard because I kept having to put them back when I got a red one, but I know that you like them, so..."  
"Thanks Brittany," Finn smiles softly at the girl's kind act and pours the candy into his palm. She bites her lip at the sight of the dozen or so strawberry candies and so he holds them out invitingly, "We'll share them." She beams and picks one up, popping it into her mouth and swinging her legs cheerfully.  
"So how's working at the coffee place going?" He asks.  
She tilts her head from side to side, an ambivalent gesture. "It's okay, I guess. I miss seeing everybody though."  
"You're seeing us now," He consoles.  
"Not Santana," She points out the absence sadly. "They all leave me alone eventually." Finn is reminded of the time he met Brittany in the morning before school and found her red-eyed and distant, when he'd asked what was wrong she told him that her cat had died with the same neutral tone one might used to comment on the weather. Even when she is feeling extreme emotions, Brittany's voice doesn't waver. "Dave Karofsky, Kevin Thompson and West Brody all broke up with me. Most guys I sleep with don't give a damn in the morning, even you went back to Quinn a few weeks after we hooked up."  
Finn flinches as he's reminded of the longest running lie he's ever told. To try and save face after the Quinn&Puck backstabbing fiasco of Sophomore year and to convince his friends that he'd lost his virginity, Finn claimed to have slept with Brittany at a party during summer vacation. Santana tried to debunk the rumor, but after he told her he knew about the twin moles on Brittany's inner thigh even the Latina accepted the story as the truth. (He'd actually seen the distinctive marking after accidentally walking in on one of Santana and Brittany's drunken fumblings).  
"It wasn't about you, Brittany," He assures. "Quinn and me... It was just complicated."  
"You love each other," She prompts.  
"Yeah," He answers, pushing the doubting voice at the back of his mind aside.  
"Nobody's ever in love with me," The blonde laments meekly. "Not even, San. Come September she'll be on the east coast and I'll be here in Lima, serving coffee."  
Finn reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Brittany's ear, she looks up at him; astounded by the gentle gesture. "You'll find someone," He states firmly, full of conviction. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow; but someday right in in dull little Lima, Ohio someone will see how amazing you are, Brittany, and they'll sweep you off your feet and love you until the day they die."  
Her wide blue eyes blink slowly before she asks, "Do you really think so?"  
"I do," He asserts.  
She smiles shyly and takes another Skittle from his hand, "Thanks, Finn."

Will reappears at that exact moment, dropping into the seat beside Finn and ducking down. His neat curls are disheveled and his t-shirt is wrinkled.  
"What happened to you?" Finn asks, observing the disordered details with fascination.  
"A woman named Shelby," The older man answers. "I bought her a drink, we talked, she wanted to screw in the bathroom."  
The young man recalls his friend's policy on one-night-stands, "That didn't go over well, huh?"  
"She wasn't inclined to stop," Will agrees, making efforts to smooth down his shirt.  
"You should have just told her you're an accountant," Finn suggests with a teasing grin. When the older man lowers his brows in response, he holds out his palm with an innocent smile, "Skittle?"

Quinn brings Sam back in time for the band to play their second hour and finish out the live entertainment for the night. One of the bar staff switches on the jukebox after they're done and the lounge is filled with an eclectic selection of chart hits and old classics. Will doesn't make another attempt at talking to a woman for the entire night and so as they're leaving, Finn talks to him and promises to think of somewhere that Will might be able to meet less drunk, less horny women.

* * *

Finn's first paid shift at Ringo's is as uneventful as his trial shift had been. When the Sunday shift sets itself up to be the same he comments on it to Joolie.  
"This isn't exactly mile-a-minute, adrenalin pumping action; no," She replies sarcastically. "Welcome to retail."

On his lunch break he walks the three blocks to Oakland Parkway to visit Brittany. The blonde has noticeably settled into the job and keeps up with the busy lunchtime rush without becoming too flustered. As Finn's lunch hour is coming to an end, Brittany gets a five minute break from behind the counter and comes to sit by the window with him.  
"How's work at the record store?" She asks.  
"Almost entirely uneventful," He responds. "Is it always this busy?"  
"Not all the time," She assures. "There's a rush in the morning and at lunchtime. Less so at about 6pm when people are heading home from work. The rest of the time it's pretty quiet, I like to sit and draw."  
"Draw what?" He asks, anticipating dolphins.  
"It's a surprise," She answers with a tiny smile.

"So what's with all the leaflets," He queries, to provide another topic of conversation. He gestures to the small pile of bright colored fliers sitting on their table and most of the other tables too.  
"Some are from advertisers, others just get left behind by people," Brittany explains. Sifting through the pile on their table the pair laugh at some of the silly messages and slogans, but one advertisement in particular attracts Finn's attention.  
"Brittany," The balding guy behind the register calls the blonde back to her work.  
"I gotta go," She says, standing up. "I'll see you tomorrow, Finn."  
"Yeah," He agrees, folding the flier that had caught his interest and tucking it into his pocket. "See ya."

Finn takes a bran muffin back to Ringo's for his colleague, she thanks him by introducing him to the highly entertaining 'Make up stuff about the customers lives' game. By the end of the day, they have sold CDs to many interesting people, such as: a master of Mullet-Fu, a nymphomaniac who is a closeted-cowgirl and the teenage clone of Sean Connery. Finn is feeling more optimistic about spending his summer working at the record store than he did the day before.

* * *

Brittany unveils the drawing she's been working on in Art class on Monday. It shows her waiting at a bus stop with a big, brown-eyed wolfhound sitting on the bench beside her. The dog is wearing a checked shirt that is instantly familiar to Finn.  
"What are those red circles on the bench between them?" Ms. Defoe inquires.  
"Skittles," The artist answers.  
"I see," The teacher remarks. "What do they represent?"  
"They represent Skittles," Brittany replies plainly.  
"I see," The teacher repeats, frowning and handing the sketchbook back to the blonde.  
Finn reluctantly hands his own sketchbook to Ms. Defoe and waits anxiously as she looks over the half-assed sketch he filled a page with.  
"Is this really how you want to portray your identity?" She asks with a disappointed sigh. "You have three more weeks to produce something insightful, please try to make use of that time."  
He takes the sketchbook back and promises to try harder. His problem is that he doesn't know at all how he wants to portray his identity, his feelings about his place in their community or any of the other stuff Ms. Defoe likes to discuss with the class.

Tina C has drawn an elaborate portrait of herself surrounded by soap bubbles, each one reflecting a different expression. Finn still thinks Brittany's drawing is the best piece of the day.

Although it's out of his way, Finn drops Brittany off at the coffee shop before driving to Puck's place. Mrs. Puckerman answers the front door and directs him on through to the garage, informing him that the others are already there. As he takes the three steps down into the cluttered garage Finn realizes that 'the others' include more than just his band mates.  
"Hey Finnocence," Santana smirks up at him from where she's lounging on the dilapidated couch.  
"What's she doing here?" Finn asks Puck as he crosses the room and bends down to slide up the garage door.  
"I missed seeing you guys play, so I figured I'd hang out for today," The Latina answers his question. "It's not like I have anything better to do." He figures that last part is probably the truth as to why she's here.  
"Oh dude," Sam groans as the light from outside hits him in the eyes.  
"Sorry," Finn apologizes as he heads over to the Aries and opens the trunk. Puck helps him carry the drums into the garage and then slams the door down again, returning them to the dank gloom. It's not the best way they could set things up, but they've learned from past experience that it's easier to keep the garage cool in the hottest weeks of the year with the use of numerous electric fans rather than relying on a breeze.

"So do we have our next gig booked?" Finn questions as he stands the bass drum upright and looks around for the tom holders.  
"I'm working on it," Puck answers, kicking aside an empty soda can that's been left by a fold-out lawn chair. "Conrad's been stonewalling me. Won't book us again til next month so I'm making some calls to places over in St. Mary's."  
Finn grits his teeth to hold in his groan as he hangs the pair of toms off their respective holders. St. Mary's is nice enough, especially if you're going out to the lake with some friends or with a girl, but Puck's not a fun person to carpool with long distance and so gigging anywhere outside the city limits is a pain in the ass.  
"Why won't he book you again?" Santana queries. "I mean, did you guys totally blow on Friday or something?"  
"Well, not _totally_," Sam responds.  
"He just said something about not wanting to feature us too much, too soon," Puck overrides, glaring at his sometimes girlfriend. "If we keep rocking the place every weekend, how will they find someone good enough to replace us once we're famous rock stars playing stadiums across the country?"  
"Book the next group of high school boneheads with guitars and delusions of grandeur?" She suggests, her smile saccharine and acidic.  
Her insult stings the drummer, but he accepts that's largely because she isn't far off base. The past couple of weeks have been a fun taste of what-might-be but he's still planning on heading off to OSU when the summer ends; Sam's got a place in Ivy Tech in Indianna. The only one still entertaining the idea that the band are gonna stick together through anything and go on to fame and fortune is Puck.  
He pauses in setting up the drum kit, spinning the cymbal in his hands loosely. "Is there any point rehearsing today if we haven't even got a gig yet?"  
The lead guitarist turns to glare at his band mate, "We're already three hours behind because you're dumb enough to go to summer school. We're not stopping completely just because you want to."  
"We're two hours behind at the most," Finn argues (It would take a hefty miracle to get Puck working before 10am). "And I'm not dumb for wanting to graduate, asshole."  
"Graduating is for pussies!" Puck snaps.  
"So are all rehearsals like this?" Santana asks Sam derisively.  
"Only the good ones," The bassist returns with an ironic smile. He pushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes and elaborates, "We'll probably have a song called _Graduating is for Pussies_ penned by August."  
"So what's your plan?" Finn challenges his friend, oblivious to the mocking commentary coming from the couch. "Just keep playing gigs for a hundred bucks each?"  
"Of course," The mohawked teen responds. "This is the plan, dude. We've been wanting this since seventh grade."  
(It all seemed so much simpler back then). Finn deflates, losing the energy to keep fighting, and slides the cymbal onto its stand, "So what are we gonna play first?"

They pass the afternoon playing through their best songs and working the kinks out of some of the newer ones. The tension from the argument eases out quickly and Finn and Puck return to the camaraderie they've shared since grade school when little Finn Hudson had finally stood up to his bully and given Noah a bloody nose. The two of them have been friends so long that neither can stay mad at the other for long (Ignoring the notable exception that left them not speaking to each other for half a year. So much so that Finn has to note that for all that their relationship may appear to have returned to what it was, he's never truly stopped feeling the twinge of betrayal when he thinks of Puck and Quinn together).

Santana watches them play with disinterest, texts on her cellphone, makes disparaging remarks and makes out with Puck during their interludes. When Esther wanders into the garage late in the afternoon, the Latina calls her 'Pester' and refuses to share the couch. The little girl sticks her tongue out and returns fire by calling the older girl 'Fake-Tan-a', the sight of a preteen girl scoring a verbal bulls-eye on Santana Lopez's biggest aesthetic insecurity chalks up at least a dozen points on the cosmic scale.

Checking his watch repeatedly as five o'clock approaches, Finn finishes up the song they're playing and then sets his sticks down.  
"I've gotta get going," He remarks casually.  
"Already?" Puck responds. "So you got here late and now you're leaving early?"  
Finn rolls his eyes and starts unscrewing the snare drum from its stand. "I've got stuff to do."  
"Stuff," Puck repeats. "Like what?"  
"Just, you know..." He shrugs and trails off vaguely, setting the snare drum down and disconnecting the hi-hat. "School stuff, dinner and I'm meeting Will."  
"You know, I'm getting pretty fucking sick of this Will guy," Puck comments, lifting the strap of his guitar over his shoulder and setting the instrument down.  
"Who's Will?" Santana asks (Because the day Santana keeps her nose out of other people's business is the day Hell serves roasted pork wings on an ice rink).  
"Some old guy Finn keeps bringing along to our shows," Sam answers.  
"He's not old," The drummer defends his friend. "He's only, like, thirty," (-six). He ducks down to detach the bass drum pedal and so he doesn't see the thoughtful expression pass over Santana's face.  
"If you're going, will you give me a ride?" She requests, standing up and gathering her belongings.  
"Sure, why not?" He answers frustratedly.

He loads the pieces of the drum kit into the trunk of the Aries and slams it closed audibly. He bids a tense goodbye to his band mates and climbs into the driver's seat.  
"So where do you want me to take you?" He prompts Santana, eager to be rid of her company.  
"Could you take me home?" She requests.  
"That's halfway across town," He points out.  
She gives him a disgusted look, but sighs, "Fine, just drop me off by St. Rita's; I'll walk from there."

They make it out of the Puckerman's neighborhood and onto the 81 before she starts up a conversation, "Do you remember that guy from the diner?"  
Aware that he's walking on thin ice, Finn keeps his tone carefully blank, "Yeah."  
"He had that yard sale," She continues. "You got some records, right?"  
"Yeah, I did."  
"Funny," She hums the word, smiling dangerously across the car at him. "A couple of days after that yard sale, Quinn called me to complain about some lame party you'd dragged her to with a bunch of guys playing old records."  
"Yeah, that is weird," He plays dumb.  
"Cut the crap, Hudson," The Latina demands. "You told me to stay away and then went after him yourself, didn't you?"  
"It's not-" He glances across and realizes that she's grinning wickedly.  
"I can't believe it, Finnocence. So what set-up have you got going on him? You've gotta let me in on it."  
"It's not like that," He insists firmly.  
"Okay, whatever." She snorts and slumps low in her seat. "I can't believe it though," She adds a moment later. "Here I am thinking you're some lunkhead and you've been reeling this guy along without me knowing."  
He stops for a red light on the corner of East McKibben Street and looks her firmly in the eye as he speaks, "Stay away from him."  
"What, are you getting defensive of your victim now?" She teases.  
(She wants to see how hard he can play?), "I have photos of you snorting cocaine at Matt Rutherford's party last summer."  
There are two pictures to be precise (And one is a little blurry), but his unsteady drunken aim with the camera had managed to capture photographic proof of her recreational drug habit in the background of his shots of the cool, glowing neon fish tank.  
She blinks, the razor-sharp grin beginning to slide from her face. "What?"  
"You heard me," He declares bluntly.  
"Well, what are y-?"  
"I know Jacob Ben Israel is working for the Lima News," Finn continues conversationally, turning to face the road and speaking with complete calm. "If those photos should happen to make their way into an exclusive article about the growing drug problem among Lima's youth... I don't think your daddy would be very happy, now would he?"  
"Why should I care?" She retorts. "I'm getting out of this backwater in a month's time anyway."  
"But is your daddy really going to pay for you to have your own apartment in Providence when he learns about your nasty little habit?" He arches an eyebrow and speaks with false concern.  
"You're a bastard," Santana bites.  
"And you're a bitch," He returns casually, taking the hand brake off as the light changes to green. "I won't do anything so long as you stay away from Will."  
She scowls at him with every ounce of sass she can muster, but he knows he has her pinned down like a specimen in a butterfly collection. "Fine, I'll stay away from your _buddy,_" She sneers the word.

He pulls the car to a stop alongside the Allen County Museum, right next to the hospital, and she climbs out readily.  
"You know, Hudson," She remarks, leaning in through the window. "You're a real fucker."  
"Bye Santana." He ignores her insult and waves, smiling insincerely, until she pulls away from the car and heads off down the street. Pulling away from the sidewalk with a cheery smile, he merges with the after work traffic and mentally calculates how many points on the cosmic scale he can attribute himself.

* * *

"You cooked side dishes?" Finn asks, looking over the serving dish of roast parsnips and the bowl of garden peas with bewilderment.  
"Pizza alone isn't a balanced meal," Will retorts, loading his plate with vegetables before he'll accept a slice a Hawaiian from Finn.  
"It's totally balanced, that's why the boxes stack," The younger man argues.  
"And pineapple is a fruit," Bryan chips in. "Fruit is good for you."  
"Why are you on his side?" Will demands.  
The blond shrugs and reaches into the box for a second slice, "He bought the pizza."  
It's true. Finn learned at about the onset of puberty that a good way to get into his mom's good graces was to take away the stress of cooking dinner from her; he had offered to bring along pizza when they were talking on the phone last night in the hope that Will would be similarly relaxed without the chore of cooking a meal to see to. The side dishes were an unanticipated complication.

They finish the pizza and watch a couple of episodes of the Simpsons, then Bryan finally withdraws from the lounge in favor of his bedroom and provides an opportunity for Finn to reveal his reason for stopping by.  
"So, uh, how would you feel about speed dating?" The young man prompts as Will flips through the stations in search of something less mind-numbing than the top ten countdown show that had started playing when the cartoon sitcom ended.  
"Why do you ask?" Will questions warily.  
Finn digs the flier he'd taken from the coffee shop out of his pocket and passes it across to the older man. "There's one running at the community center near Baxter Park," He explains.  
Will reads over the flier, one eyebrow arched skeptically, "This sounds like a horrible idea."  
"It's a genius idea," Finn insists. He'd expected reluctance and the need for persuasion (The pizza had been an attempt to evade it) and so has arguments prepared. "If you meet someone and hit it off; great, and if don't meet anyone you like, there's no obligation to see any of them ever again. Besides, the whole concept is that you only have, like, two minutes to talk to someone, so it'll give you a chance to practice introducing yourself and get over your tendency to screw it up."  
The older man runs a hand through his hair and watches the flier like it might bite him, "I don't know. This all seems a bit sketchy to me."  
The younger man sighs and makes the offer he knew he'd probably have to make, "I'll go with you, if you like."  
Will looks up from the flier and watches Finn with the same wariness he gave the flier, "Why would you do that?"  
Finn shrugs and gives a lopsided grin. "I'm your wingman," He declares. "Besides, if it turns out to be as bad as you think we'll bail and go get something to eat."  
"Not pizza?" Will inquires.  
"Okay, no pizza."  
"And you'll pay your half of the bill?"  
"Not a problem," The young man assures.  
"Fine," The older man agrees to the conditions and reluctantly phones the number on the flier there and then, so that Finn knows he isn't going to chicken out. "Two eligible bachelors confirmed for next Friday's 7pm meeting," He confirms once the call has been made.  
"Oh fuck." The younger man gapes as he realizes the mistake he's just made.  
"What?" Will asks, concerned.  
"Oh, it's nothing. Just, Quinn's gonna deep-fry my balls if she finds out about this," Finn explains.  
"You said it yourself, you don't have to actually go on real dates with any of the people you meet," The older man reminds. "If you explain it, I'm sure she'll understand."  
"No. Quinn runs on insane chick logic when she gets mad," The young man assures. "She'll make out like I'm cheating on her with the whole of Ohio."  
"The whole of Ohio," Will repeats under his breath. "'Hole of Ohio', that does kinda sound like a brothel."  
Finn blinks, then laughs when the older man gives a cheesy grin. "Okay, so I keep it under wraps. Like, _deep_ under wraps. Like 'on a picnic at an ant colony' under wraps."  
"That sounds like a sensible plan," The older man agrees.  
The television cuts to an ad break and the shrill jingle of the first commercial sends Will scrambling for the remote to resume his quest for a watchable TV show.

* * *

On Friday night as he's getting dressed in his room, Finn is startled by the ring of the telephone. He considers leaving the machine to answer the call, but changes his mind on the fifth ring and slides over to the bedside table to pick up.  
"Hello?"  
"Hey Finn," Quinn greets and knocks the young man's heart rate up a few notches out of anxiety. "Are you doing anything tonight?"  
"Uh, yeah," He answers hesitantly. "Will and I are gonna..." He trails off when he remembers exactly who he is talking to and tries to cover his tracks, "Just hang out at his place."  
"Well, can you blow it off? I want to see that new comedy about the sorority girl who enrolls at Harvard."  
"Gee, that sounds great," (Like a brick to the face), "but I mean, I already told Will I'd go, so..." He hears Quinn's frustrated huff and goes into immediate damage control mode. "I work at the mall on weekends though, I'll stop by Stadium 12 before I start tomorrow and get us two great seats for the first showing after my shift finishes."  
The huff changes to a light chuckle, "You can be a real goofball, you know."  
"I try," He returns mischievously.

He spins on the railing at the bottom of the stairs on the way down, heading into the kitchen and going directly to the freezer for a Hot Pocket.  
"Are you playing somewhere fancy tonight?" His mom questions from where she's grating cheese.  
"Huh?" Finn queries, turning the dial on the microwave.  
"What's with the tie?" She drops subtlety and asks.  
"No gig, just trying to look good for..." He trails off for the second time in under five minutes. He fiddles with the striped tie, "Just wanted to look nice."  
She hums a disbelieving sound and lets the matter drop. "So, _are_ you playing anywhere this weekend?"  
"Puck found some bar in St. Mary's that's willing to pay us for six hours work," He answers.  
"Six hours?" She repeats.  
"So, yeah, I'll be home late that night," He remarks, taking a slice of tomato from the pile she's already prepared.  
"Well, just make sure you're not doing anything next Friday," She requests, swatting at his hand as he reaches for another slice.  
"Why?"  
"Since you boys are going away to college soon, I thought it might be nice to have Burt and Kurt over for dinner," She answers.  
(Oh joy, there will be enough fillet of awkward silence for all!) "Okay, I'll make sure Puck knows I can't make next Friday."  
She narrows her eyes at his reluctant tone, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, honey."  
"No," He insists. "No, I think it's a great idea." He tries, fiercely, to feel the enthusiasm he's putting into his words, but can't quite manage it.

* * *

"That jacket makes you look like a car salesman," Finn observes.  
"I am a car salesman," Bryan answers.  
The younger man frowns in consideration, "I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse."  
"Whatever." The blond shrugs and takes a pull of his hip flask, "Bring on the ladies!"  
"I'm, uh, sorry about this," Will apologizes as Bryan charges ahead of them down the hall. "I'd have warned you, but I didn't know he was going too until he started getting ready an hour ago."  
"It's not a problem," Finn assures. "Just remember, tonight is about you."  
"Right." The older man nods, anxiously pulling at the sleeve of his sweater. "Do I look okay?"  
Finn wants to laugh at his friend's concern because it's so misplaced. The burgundy sweater and faded blue jeans show off his tight frame in such an appealing manner that if Finn were into guys (Which he's totally _not_, he just looks sometimes because he can appreciate the effort guys have put into getting pumped. Besides, girls like a guy who's in touch with his feminine side and comfortable with his own sexuality; there's like, magazine articles about it and stuff) he would be all over him in a heartbeat.  
"You look amazing," He assures. "Do you remember the instructions I gave you?"  
Will rolls his eyes and lists them, "Don't be scared, act friendly and subscribe to your fascist idea that accountancy is some kind of crime against romance."  
"You embellished that last one a little," Finn acknowledges.  
"I'm just a little reluctant to follow your advice on this one," The older man explains. "You haven't been to one of these things either."  
"No," He admits. "But I know how girls' think."  
"Then please, impart onto me your wisdom; O Master of the female brain," Will retorts dryly.  
"If you get uncomfortable talking about yourself, use AHD," Finn answers, taking the challenge unflinchingly.  
"Pretend I have an attention deficit?" Will queries, confused.  
"No, AHD," The younger man repeats. "Aspirations, hopes and dreams."  
Will's confused expression intensifies, "Aren't those all the same thing?"  
"Not to a woman," Finn assures. "Take my girlfriend, Quinn, for example: She _aspires_ to be a vet. She _dreams_ of opening a little breakfast bar in a major city, but she'd never actually pursue it, and she _hopes_ there will be world peace one day, which is different to a _dream_ because she thinks it might really happen."  
Will thinks it over as he holds the front door open for the younger man. "I still don't see where the difference is."  
"It's subtle," Finn agrees. "You don't have to understand it all really. Just remember that if you ask a woman about her hopes for the future there's a good chance she'll talk your ear off."

The community center parking lot has a few dozen cars parked in it when they arrive. Will finds a free space and then the three of them head to the front entrance. A man in a cowboy hat and large-framed glasses charges them the ten dollar entry fee, then checks their names off on a register and hands them stickers to write their names on.  
"'Hello my name is... being controlled by an evil puppet master and has gained a life of its own. Fetch help!'" Finn suggests, leaning on the counter and waiting for Will to hand him the marker pen.  
"I don't think that will fit on the label," The older man answers with wry amusement, peeling his sticker off and placing it over his breast.  
"'Hello my name is... too hard to pronounce'," Finn prompts as Bryan uses the pen.  
"Here," Bryan slaps the sticker onto Finn's shirt and takes the blank one for himself. The sticker reads 'Yard sale guy'.  
"I think mine was better," The young man remarks, but doesn't make a move to peel the label off.

The guy behind the counter passes across a questionnaire for each of them to fill in and directs them towards a room down the hall for when they've finished.  
"_Tick the box that represents how important each trait listed is to you in regard to your ideal partner_," Finn reads from the form. "_In which A means 'Not At All Important' and E means 'Very Important'._" He frowns and taps his pencil against his cheek. "Do you think if I put all Cs, I'll get a mermaid?"  
Will snorts and looks up from filling in his own boxes, "Are you gonna take this seriously at all?"  
"Hey, I'm deliberately trying not to meet someone I like," The younger man reminds. "I don't want anything that Quinn can hold against me if she ever finds out about this."

In the room down the hall they mingle about with the rest of the customers, a crowd of men and women of varying ages; though most seem to be in their thirties to forties, until a tiny blonde woman walks in and addresses them all.  
"Okay everybody, I hope we're all ready to part-ay!" She gives a loud whoop that isn't echoed by anybody. "My name is April Rhodes and I'm gonna be in charge of y'all this fine evening." She beams at them through bubblegum pink lip gloss.  
"Is it too early to run away screaming?" Will whispers.  
Finn swallows his laughter and whispers back, "We might as well get our money's worth." The woman in charge may be a petite bundle of excitable energy who is pushing forty but dresses _much_ younger (Honestly, that skirt is even shorter than _she_ is) but the evening can only improve, right?

Everybody gets handed a number, the women's numbers correspond to one of the tables in the three rooms that have been booked by the speed dating service; the men's numbers dictate which table they will start at and then proceed to navigate in a clockwise direction until they've visited every table in every room. Finn dislikes that the men have been given the task of traveling around while the women get to sit and wait for their dates to come to them, not only for the fact that he'll have to make sense of the bizarre system and probably screw it up, but also because their numbers are assigned based on alphabetical listing and so he and Will are going to be neatly separated for the evening by the distance of at least one room at all times.

"Here's how it's all gonna go," April announces cheerily. "When the bell rings-" She cups a hand to her ear and waits for her assistant to apathetically demonstrate the bell before continuing, "-the fellas start talking." She holds her left hand out. "When the bell rings again-" Another pause so the bell can be rung, "-the gals start talking." She holds her right hand out parallel to her left. "When the bell rings a third time-" The ring is quicker this time, even the assistant seems to be getting irritated with the pantomime his colleague is putting on. "-you get a minute to fill in your score card, ranking how you think the date went, and then you mosey on over to the next person." She crosses her arms over so her hands are pointing away from one another. "At the end of the evening we'll check your scorecards against the questionnaires you filled in when you arrived and give you a list of your best matches. Then we come back here and enjoy ourselves til closing time."

Finn tells his first date honestly that he's here as moral support for a friend and not actually looking for a date. She acts affronted and takes out her scorecard to mark him as zero in all categories, taking great care to do so in plain view. He isn't overly concerned by it but decides to play along with the other women for the next hour or so to avoid another stony silent five minutes.

"'Yard sale guy'?"  
"Actually it's pronounced Yarrid Sol Goi."  
"Is that foreign?"  
"It's Russian."

He's having a lot of fun telling wild lies and inventing cool identities; the skills of imaginative storytelling Joolie taught him in their game to make the long, boring shifts seem less tedious are really coming in handy, and some of the women are friendly, funny and have interesting stories about their own lives. When he finishes filling in the scorecard for his seventh date and heads into the next room to meet girl number eight he has a shock in store.  
"Tina C," He greets pleasantly, taking his seat. (She's even written 'Tina C' on her name-tag, with an exclamation mark punctuated with a star).  
"F-Finn," She answers, brushing her hair over her face shyly. "What are you d-d-doing here?"  
"Oh, you know," He shrugs, "Just chillin'. How about you?"  
She pulls at the hem of her fingerless gloves timidly. "I don't know if you know any Asian p-parents, but they kinda s-suck about letting their kids d-d-date," She explains. "I'm sorta hoping to meet someone to p-p-pop my cherry before summer's over. I don't wanna be the o-only virgin in the Freshman class."  
Finn is a little stunned by the shy girl's blunt admission. "So where are you going to college?"  
She ducks her head, suddenly melancholy. "I haven't actually g-got a place yet. I'm w-waiting to hear back."  
"I'm sure you'll find somewhere," He says encouragingly. "... and about the virgin thing; most of the popular kids aren't having as much sex as they claim they are. You won't be the only one."  
She chews her lower lip, "R-r-really?"  
"Hey, I'm dating the head of the Celibacy Club," He professes.  
It takes him a few moments to realize the depth of his admission and he wants to take it back almost immediately, he's been denying it for so long that letting it slip seems like such a huge mistake. At first he tries to convince himself that Tina is a classic example of a '_Have a nice summer_ in the back of the yearbook' kid and so it's not like she's gonna _tell_ anyone, but then he considers how hypocritical it is to tell her she shouldn't be worried about her virginity when he's having a panic attack at the thought that someone might know about his. When he has this small revelation, he starts to cope with his confession.  
"That sorta sucks, that you're dating Quinn Fabray," Tina says with a little smile. "You're hot for a jock."  
He laughs and feels the last of his panic dissolve. "Well, you're cute for a goth chick," He replies.

Two tables later he sits down opposite a blond with dark eyes, trim cuticles and a hungry expression.  
"I'm Terri," She introduces herself the instant the starting bell sounds.  
"Nice to meet you," He smiles pleasantly.  
"So, 'Yard sale guy'...?" She reads from the name-tag and frowns.  
He gets the impression that she might be susceptible so he experiments with a new lie. "It's a nickname," He tells her. "I don't like my real name."  
"What is it?"  
"Methuselah," He says the first weird name that comes to mind. "And I can't exactly shorten it to Meth, can I?" He adds with a sly grin.  
"Why not?" She prompts blankly. He doesn't know how to answer that and so there's an awkward silence until she sparks up the conversation again. "You look a little young," She accuses.  
The dating service is open to anyone aged eighteen or up, but if she wants to challenge him he's fully prepared to lie wildly. "I have a genetic disorder that affects my appearance. I look eighteen but I'm really twenty-eight."  
"Wow," She remarks, impressed, then leans forward to whisper conspiratorially. "Is it contagious?"  
"Sadly no, but I don't think you'd really need it anyway," He assures.  
A faint blush rises on her cheeks and she preens vainly, "Would you believe I'm only twenty-nine?"  
(No. Seriously, who does she think she's kidding?) "Really? I'd have guessed younger."  
"So, Yard sale guy," She prompts. "What do you do when you aren't flattering women at speed dating nights?"  
"I work in computers," He lies smoothly. Broad answers seem to be accepted more easily.  
"Really?" She rests her chin of her hand (Finn doesn't miss the way her posture makes her rack really noticeable and guesses that the movement was deliberate), "I don't know much about computers. I can send e-mail and work a spreadsheet, but everything else is confusing to me."  
"It's simpler than it looks," (He's not going to admit that his actual experiences with a computer have involved a lot of 'ctrl+alt+del' and blue screen errors), "There's RAM and ROM and, uh, the hard drive." She nods blandly as he lists buzzwords and so he quickly changes the topic. "So, what are your goals?"  
"I'm assistant manager at a local store and I'm really sure that I'm going to be promoted up to a manager's position in the next quarter," She answers.  
He starts to tune her out automatically, but a tiny detail catches his attention and he puzzles it over. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" He interrupts.  
"Terri Delmonico," She answers with a gracious smile. Alarm bells start sounding in Finn's head, but his suspicions are confirmed when she continues, "I was married, but I went back to using my maiden name after the divorce."  
"Will you excuse me, I have to-" He pushes his chair away from the table and starts walking backwards towards the door; his mind is filled with a chorus of expletives and he's having difficulty thinking of an excuse, "-pee," He finishes lamely.

One room over he finds Will chatting amiably to a young woman in her late twenties. They both look up as Finn hurries over and the young man pauses as he notices the half-moon reading glasses his friend is wearing. Amid the panic filling him, Finn feels a kick to the chest that leaves him winded for a single instant, then he shakes it off.  
"Can I borrow your date for a second?" He requests, smiling politely at the young woman. She doesn't looked pleased, but since he's pulling the older man up by the elbow she doesn't have much choice but to let him go.  
"Finn, what's the matter?" Will asks once they've moved into one corner of the room.  
"We need to leave, right now," He instructs firmly.  
"Do we have to, I mean-?" He looks over to the woman he'd been sat with wistfully.  
He doesn't know how the older man will take the news that his ex-wife is here, so Finn settles for a half truth, "My ex is here."  
"Your ex?" Will repeats suspiciously.  
"Yes. We had a horrible break-up. Messy, messy break-up. I really don't want to see her, so let's just-"  
"You told me Quinn is the only girlfriend you've ever had," Will cuts across the rambling.  
(Well, he tried). "_Your_ ex is here," Finn corrects himself.  
"Terri is..." The older man mumbles to himself, eyes going wide. "You're right, we should-"  
The bell to signal the next move sounds.  
"Come on," Finn suggests, heading towards the door. "We'll slip out when nobody's looking."

Their escape plan is foiled almost immediately when a couple of the women from the room Finn abandoned come out in search of him and a couple of women from the room they've just left come out to ask Will why he's skipping ahead several places in the assigned order. In under a minute most of the customers, both male and female, are crowding the hall and order has been completely lost.  
"We could really do with a distraction," Finn mumbles to the older man.  
A mere moment later a loud voice speaks up. "Does this mean it's time to switch?" Bryan inquires with a huge, drunken grin. "Great, okay; all the guys who swing both ways line up in front of me!"  
There's an outcry from one or two horrified men and a lot of disturbance in the wake of Bryan's announcement. As the pint-sized powerhouse April Rhodes yells over the ruckus and attempts to restore order, Finn and Will escape away into the evening air.

They stop at a late-night diner on West Market Street and hunker down in a booth by the window. Finn catches the other man's eye across the top of the laminated menu numerous times and eventually the twitch of Will's lips explodes into full blown laughter, which the younger man joins in on wholeheartedly.  
"Did you arrange for him to say that in case things went wrong?" Finn asks curiously.  
Will shakes his head emphatically, "That was pure Bryan."  
"So that was a total disaster," The younger man summarizes when they finish laughing.  
"Well, I had fun at least," The older man dissuades. "And I did actually talk to some women."  
"Progress," Finn declares with a renewed grin.  
When the waiter arrives, Will orders a bacon sandwich and Finn asks for a vanilla ice-cream sundae.  
"So did Terri..." Will aims for a casual tone and doesn't quite manage it. "Did she look like she was doing okay?"  
"She might have found a time machine," Finn answers. When the older man gives him a strange look, he explains, "She told me she was twenty-nine."  
Will chuckles, "Yeah, she did that while we were still married. She's going to be twenty-nine until she's fifty."  
There's an awkward silence until their food arrives, at which point they settle in for conversation pointedly _not_ about Will's ex-wife and Finn lets the older man steal spoonfuls of his sundae without complaint.


	4. Chapter 4

The performance at the club in St. Mary's on Sunday night goes about as badly as Finn had expected it to, it's a welcome return to the norm for the Dirty Muthafuckas and a truly awful start to the week. They don't finish their performance until half past one in the morning, so by the time they've loaded up the van and driven back to Lima it's seriously late. The hour hand of the alarm clock on his bedside table is creeping close to the 3 by the time Finn scrambles underneath the blankets.

Having to get up early the next morning is a thoroughly unpleasant experience and he's grouchy to everybody in Art class. He snaps at Tina when she says hello and the shy girl flinches visibly and avoids him for the next four hours. His exasperation with Ms. Defoe's unhelpful critique boils over and he tells her sharply that he's trying his best and it isn't his fault if he can't express his inner artistic soul like she keeps telling him to. Lastly, he barks at Brittany to get her own ride to work when she asks if he'll drop her off at the coffee shop again; he feels a twinge of regret as he sees her standing alone looking downtrodden in the rear view mirror, but pushes it down. At home he falls asleep on the couch and doesn't wake up until his mom gets back from work.

He spends Tuesday locked away in his room with his US History textbook and a hoard of snacks liberated from the pantry, playing records and studying for the test he'll be taking the following day. When Puck phones to ask if he's free to rehearse, there's enough residual anger left over that he can spread it out through their argument like the last scrapings of margarine from the bottom of the tub. He tells the lead guitarist that he's too busy reviewing the Reconstructive and Progressive eras to have time to make noise pollution in the Puckerman's garage and repeats the warning he'd already given on Sunday night that he'll be busy on Friday, so won't be able to play any shows. The mohawked teen swears a blue streak down the phone line at him and as he hangs up and heads back to his textbook Finn idly wonders if he'll look back on the conversation in years to come as the breaking point that ended the band.

By Wednesday morning his irritability has run its course and he's dreading the test coming up after the two hour session of Art. Part genuine regret for his actions and part fear of karmic retribution in the form of an F on the exam spurs him to apologize.  
"Tina?"  
The goth looks up from her work meekly, "Hi Finn."  
"What are you working on?" He inquires, nodding at the busk she's painting.  
"It's a representation of m-me," She answers, putting her paintbrush down and turning the mannequin torso and head to face him. There's an anatomically correct heart with dove's wings painted onto the chest and the face is made up to resemble her own.  
"That's... pretty," He offers lamely.  
"The wings are for p-p-purity," She asserts, turning her busk back toward her. "I s-shouldn't be so a-ashamed that I'm a virgin."  
He blinks, a little surprised to hear her acknowledge the conversation they shared at the community center, but glad to know she's listened to his advice. "Listen, I'm sorry if I was a jerk on Monday. Are we still cool?"  
"When were we c-cool before?" She challenges.  
He realizes that she has a point and so decides to leave her be. Even though he didn't regard her much before, he feels a pang of regret that they won't be able to have another conversation like they did at the community center.

He apologizes to Ms. Defoe next. She tells him that his outburst, though vulgar, was freely allowed by the rules of her classroom which encourage open expression of emotion; and she suggests he try channeling his frustration into a creative outlet through his artwork. Brittany tells him that girls get grumpy once a month, so he shouldn't feel bad for having an off day just one time. He gives her a hug and they return to their customary Art class routine.

He only scored a 69 on the last test, so Finn knows he'll have to make up the difference this time. He keeps up the determination he had on the long answer question from the second test and writes a lengthy, detailed description of the thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth amendments and the impact they had, discusses the importance of the Interstate Commerce Act and writes about the progression of women's suffrage through the late 19th and into the early 20th century until his wrist aches. For the first time all summer, when he leaves the classroom he is confident that he's passed the test.

There's a blinking light on his answering machine when he heads up to his bedroom to drop off his backpack. He presses the playback button and smiles when he hears Will's voice.  
"Hey Finn. So, Bryan just called me to say he's got some buddies stopping over for a poker night and I need somebody to defend me from their raucous behavior, naturally I thought of you." Finn laughs at the dry tone. "No, seriously. If you're not doing anything already, do you want to stop by tonight. Call me back, okay."  
He waits for the click of the message ending, then picks up the phone and dials Will's number. He listens through the dials until the other man's own messaging machine picks up and plays the greeting message. "Hey Will, I got your message. I'm free for the evening so I'll stop by at the usual time. See you then."

* * *

Finn's beginning to grow used to being known as 'Yard sale guy'. Bryan introduces him as such to his buddies at the kitchen table: an overweight, dark-haired man wearing gym shorts and sweating heavily in the low-heat of the apartment, a tipsy brunette woman with rectangular glasses and the top two buttons of her blouse undone, and a short-haired blonde in a tracksuit. The last of these is recognizable to Finn as Sue Sylvester, a life coach and local celebrity with a segment on the WOHN news; Quinn, Brittany and Santana idolize her as an example of a strong, modern, independent woman. Finn (Whose mom had managed to keep a respectable job and make it to his little league games, while remaining softhearted and courteous) wonders why she has to be so harsh, caustic and critical in her television appearances.

He nods politely to the group of gamblers and collects two cokes from the fridge, taking them back to Will's bedroom and shutting the door behind him to muffle the noise.  
"Raucous is certainly the right word," Finn comments, passing one of the chilled bottles to the older man.  
"Hold on," Will comments. Sliding a black disc from it's sleeve and setting it gently on the turntable. Moments later the argument that's broken out over Bryan's accusations of cheating is drowned out by the smooth recording of Eric Clapton's famous cover of the JJ Cale song _Cocaine_. "That's better," The older man remarks, taking the bottle-opener being offered to him by Finn and popping the cap of his soda.  
"Can I see the sleeve?" The younger man requests. He reads over the songs listed on the back of the white card, impressed by the familiar titles. "I've got a copy of _From the Cradle_," He remarks, passing the empty sleeve back. "It was one of the first records I bought."  
Will inclines his head towards the turntable, "This was my fifth album. Second edition print, got it in '78."  
Finn smiles as he imagines a young, teenage Will walking into a record store and picking out an album that's first song is about drugs. "They just sold it to you?"  
"It was a different time," The older man remarks, a tinge of nostalgia in his smile as he sips at his soda.

The student uses the comment to turn the topic to the History exam he'd taken that morning. Will listens with polite interest to the Cliffs Notes version of the answers he gave before confessing that History wasn't his strong subject at school and so he probably knows even less than Finn. The younger man responds that the very idea is improbable and the pair chuckle at the joke until _We're All The Way_ finishes playing and Will gets up to change the record.

Finn has uncovered numerous titles in the trunk of singles and albums that he wants to listen to, so rather than change the Clapton record to the second side Will swaps it for something new.  
"So." Will returns to his spot on the carpet next to the Finn, sitting with his back against the bed, "My romantic life may be dead in the water, but how's yours going?"  
He's a little bemused as to why Will is asking, but answers the question regardless, "Quinn made me take her to this awful chick flick last Saturday."  
The older man winces, "You have my sympathy. What movie was it?"  
"_Legally Blonde_," He answers.  
Will peels at the label of his bottle thoughtfully, "I think I've heard of that one."  
"I wish _I _hadn't," Finn quips.  
The older man gives a bark of laughter, "Surely it can't be that bad."  
"The whole movie is about a girl learning she doesn't need a man to be happy," Finn surmises. "Not only is it annoying that it takes her an hour and a half's running time to learn that despite the fact that the guy she likes is the biggest dollop of dickcheese on the planet, but it's a lesson learned by other girls in a bunch of other movies already. Why do most films about independent, modern women focus on them learning to _be_ independent? Why can't there be more films like _Aliens_? I mean, Ripley didn't spend an hour worrying whether she could support herself, she was up in the marine dude's face telling him that shit was about to get real."  
"So you're saying you'd like more movies where the female protagonist gets to fight a giant monster in a mechanical suit?" Will surmises wryly.  
"Or just toasts some gooey alien spawn with a flamethrower," Finn agrees, grinning crookedly.  
"So, if not a climactic battle with an alien queen; how does _Legally Blonde_ end?" The older man prompts.  
"Some court room stuff, I don't know; I'd stopped paying attention," He answers. "I mean, most of the movie is just people talking, oh and boobs."  
"Boobs?" Will prompts, eyebrows raising with intrigue.  
"Yeah, there's scenes with Reese Witherspoon in a bikini and one where she's dressed as a Playboy Bunny." The younger man shrugs and drinks his soda.  
"Well, wasn't that worth paying six bucks to see?"  
"I don't know," Finn grimaces and thinks about the movie again. "I know she's _hot_, but the character was so shallow and annoying; it was sort of a turn off." He bites his lip and thinks out loud, "I like that Quinn's smarter than me, but I didn't think I was into smart girls in general. Does it make me a greedy jerk if I want to date girls who are smart and sexy?"  
"It makes you more discerning than most guys your age," Will declares sagely, clapping a hand on Finn's thigh. "Most would settle for just the latter."

The first song on the LP finishes and leads into a cover of the famous Jennifer Rush song, _The Power of Love_.  
The older man grins, "I love this song."  
Finn nods his head in return, but doesn't speak. The spot on his thigh the older man touched is tingling and the lurch in his gut he's felt a few times in the past weeks has returned. He watches Will's thumb circling the top of his soda bottle and the slight movements of his lips as he quietly sings along to the first verse of the song. As the chorus approaches, the other man seems to notice his attention and turns to face him. They're sat side-by-side, only a short distance away from each other and Finn's eyes are still fixated on the gleam of his friend's lower lip, shiny from where he's been sucking on the soda bottle.  
"Finn?" Will prompts.  
The younger man looks up into gray-green eyes (Why does he hate green again? Green is such a great color) and licks his own lips reflexively. The older man's eyes follow the movement and Finn feels him lean a little closer. His pulse is pounding in his ears, his lungs are pushing against his chest, there's a thrum of blood coming from between his legs.

The moment breaks to shards when the door slams open.  
"Schuester, where are the paper towels?" Sue barks fiercely. "Brenda hurled and we need to clean up before it sticks to the linoleum."  
Will looks up at the woman in the doorway. "In the cabinet over the dishwasher," He informs her calmly.  
When the door closes again Finn has shifted several perceptible inches away from the older man and is glugging at his coke to try and calm the sudden increase in his temperature. He feels tense and feverish, painfully aware of the half-mast he's still flying below the waist.  
Will peels at a loose corner of the soda label and broaches the silence boldly, "Finn, we should-"  
"So, Air Supply," Finn overrides, gesturing to the turntable. "I mean, they're one of my all time favorite soft rock bands. How about you?" He gulps as he watches the older man weigh his reaction, then breathes a sigh of relief when the older man doesn't push the point further.

The album ends and Will stands up to change to the next record in the stack they've set aside while Finn looks through the trunk as a distraction. He's wondering if it would be better to make up an excuse and leave when the phone rings.  
"Are you gonna answer it?" The younger man prompts as Will sets the needle into the groove.  
"The machine can pick up," Will dismisses.  
They both turn back to their business as the phone rings off and the machine's message plays.  
"Hi," A hesitant female voice speaks after the tone, drawing both their attention. "I don't know if you remember but- Well I- I saw your message in the paper, but I was in a- in a relationship at the time... I, um, I saved the article and I'm not in that relationship anymore so I thought... Oh this is so-" She takes a heavy breath and speaks more confidently, "If you still want to meet up, call me." She leaves her number and hangs up.  
"Did you leave a message in the personals or something?" Finn inquires, aiming for nonchalance.  
"Yes, uh, about six weeks ago," The older man answers, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  
"Well, are you gonna call her back?" He prompts.  
Will hesitates, passing the coke bottle back and forth between his hands. "It's probably just a prank call."  
"It didn't sound like a prank call," The young man insists, fully aware of the reason for his friend's hesitance and feeling a twinge of guilt for being partially responsible for it.  
"So she just happens to ring six weeks after I put the ad out?" The older man remarks.  
"She said she was in a relationship at the time," Finn reminds. "But she kept the article, that has to mean something." He stands up and sits down on the bed beside Will, reaching up to place a supportive hand to his shoulder and then halting. "You might as well give this a shot, it's not like my advice is really helping you all that much." He makes a circular gesture to excuse his aborted hand movement.  
The older man smiles shakily at him, "Okay. I'll call."

Finn sits on the periphery of the phone call and tries to appear distracted by the titles on his friend's bookshelf and not like a total eavesdropper. The older man speaks to his chance acquaintance pleasantly and after ten minutes Will has a date for Friday evening. Finn makes the other man promise to call him once it's over and give him a full report, preferably with lots of juicy details; but as he drives home through the darkened streets there's a heaviness upon his heart he didn't expect to be feeling when the older man finally got himself a date.

* * *

Finn wears the dress shirt bought specially for his aunt's second wedding (Sadly, the shirt has outlived the marriage) for the dinner on Friday. The four of them spend the first twenty minutes of the evening in the lounge making polite, if tense, conversation about the amateur dramatics workshop Kurt has been taking three days a week all summer, Burt's most recent fishing trip to the Lost Creek Reservoir, Finn's job at Ringo's and the weather.

His mom has cooked crab cake starters (Because as much as she's insisting this is a casual dinner, she's looking to impress) and spaghetti bolognese. Finn is content to stay quiet throughout dinner in favor of filling his face and so calmly listens to Kurt's story about winning the 'Rising Star' Dance and Movement Arts scholarship to UCLA for his videotaped performance of an interpretive dance act that he choreographed, directed and starred in. He doesn't feel half as envious as the other teenager seems to think he is, if the smugly superior tone of Kurt's voice when he asks where Finn is going to college is any measure.  
"I got a football scholarship to OSU," He answers levelly.  
"Ah yes," Kurt remarks. "The Barbarians did so well in the games last season, didn't they?"  
"We're the Titans," Finn corrects, but he suspects Kurt already knew that.  
"So, what does your scholarship cover. Rooms, meals?" Burt inquires.  
"Both," He answers, "So long as I play for the team and keep my grades up."  
"That's good," Burt remarks.

There's a short silence while everybody twirls spaghetti on their prongs or sips at their drink.  
"So Kurt," Finn's mom breaks the quiet. "Are you seeing anybody at the moment?"  
"Unfortunately not, Carole," Kurt answers, smiling beatifically at her. Finn holds his breath that there won't be anymore, but Kurt continues. "_Some_ people in this town don't want people like myself to be happy."  
Finn grits his teeth at the sly look sent his way and throws down his fork. "You know, dude, I never said I have a problem with you being gay."  
"Oh please let's don't," His mom mumbles with a despairing sigh.  
"So there was some other reason you got your caveman buddies to corner me in the parking lot and fire paint balls at me?" Kurt accuses.  
"Okay, one, I never asked them to do that," Finn argues. "Two, I payed half your dry cleaning bill; and three, I was only freaked out because you were acting like a stalker, it's not because you're a dude."  
"_I _was acting like a stalker?" Kurt echoes in disbelief. "I was the one having to look over my shoulder everywhere I went."  
"I didn't _have_ to look over my shoulder, I _knew_ you'd be there eyeballing me."  
"We went to the same school, of course I was going to be around," Kurt insists. "I wasn't trying to terrify you."  
"Well you did a good job anyway," Finn bites back. "Watching me eat from across the cafeteria, pretty much molesting my face with skin cleanser when you talked me into letting you sort out my zit outbreak, stealing my jock strap out of the locker room-"  
"You never proved that last one was me," Kurt interrupts the list of accusations, "And you know what, I bet you wouldn't have a problem with any of this if it was a girl doing it."  
"Have you never heard of Rachel Berry?" Finn retorts (Because if Kurt was behaving like a stalker, Rachel had cranked it all the way up to 11). "It's not that you're a guy, I just don't _like_ you that way." Sometimes, especially now, he doesn't like Kurt all that much, but when he watches something crumble in the other boy's eyes Finn feels a stab of guilt. "Thank you for the pasta, Carole. It was delicious, but I shall be leaving now." He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and rises serenely.  
"Kurt," His father calls.  
"I'll meet you at home, Dad. Stay here with Carole, have a nice time." The cracks are starting to show in Kurt's voice and as the front door slams closed behind him, the sound of a faint sob can be heard.

His mom pushes the remaining spaghetti on her plate around with her fork despondently. Burt looks torn between going after his son and tearing into Finn.  
"I'm sorry," The young man apologizes. "But I only told him how I feel."  
The harshness in Burt's eyes flickers and then dies down to something smoother. "He's a good kid, can achieve anything he sets his mind to... Except some things, and when he comes up against those things he kicks off." The father sighs and Finn can see the weight of parenting on the older man's shoulders (The same weight he sees in his mom's eyes when she's disappointed in him).  
"Will you tell him I'm sorry?" The young man requests.  
"Sure, I'll let him know." Burt nods.

Finn stomps upstairs to his bedroom and throws himself down on his bed feeling rotten to the core. He knows that if he hadn't told Kurt exactly what he was thinking the other boy would've continued on with his snide insinuations and given Finn an ulcer from holding in his outburst, but he still regrets having ruined the pleasant dinner his mom was hoping for. His letter jacket is hanging on the back of his desk chair and as his gaze wanders the room it catches his attention. His thoughts turn to all the stupid, mean things he did to people like Kurt just because they weren't his friends and to people like Tina just because he never took the time to stop and have a conversation with them. He thinks about the cruel pranks the football team pulled on the chess club, Freshman he helped Puck give patriotic wedgies to, slushies he's thrown and all the times he's stood by and watched his friends do the same things without intervening.

He feels a slow-burning rage at himself boil up inside and all the leftover adrenaline and anger from his argument with Kurt comes pouring out of him in a burst of violence. He grabs the scissors from his abandoned art project on the desk and slashes the W off of the jacket, he tears the hole in the boiled wool wider and adds a few deep cuts to the leather sleeves. When his anger is vented he drops the jacket to the floor and sinks down onto the bed.

At first he regrets the outburst and feels foolish for having destroyed the memento of his time on the McKinley High football team, but then his thoughts turn to Ms. Defoe's suggestion that he channel his frustration into his art project and he gets a burst of inspiration. Picking up his car keys and wallet, he rushes down the stairs and into the Aries. He just hopes the art supply shop on West High Street is still open.

* * *

He took his camera along to Prom, but after his girlfriend's mood turned sour he had stopped taking photographs and so there was a lot of film left in the camera for his artistic pursuit. He drops the film in at the one hour photo store on the way into work on Saturday and asks for standard 6x4s of the entire reel, then ten black and white copies of each of the last eight images on the reel. The girl behind the counter remarks that there's not much chance that his order can be prepared in an hour because of the extra processes involved in printing multiples, but he assures her that isn't a problem and makes the payment.

When Joolie asks him why he is almost late to his shift he explains that he was busy with artistic stuff. She cocks an eyebrow and replies, "Well the display of new releases needs restocking, Rembrandt."  
He folds his arms over his chest and pouts, "Can't I be one of the ninja turtles?"  
"Nope," She declares, turning her back on him.  
"Michelangelo?" He suggests, following after her as she heads towards the stock room.  
"No."  
"Raphael?"  
"Not happening."  
"Leonardo?"  
"Nuh-uh."  
"Michelangelo?"  
"You already said Michelangelo," She points out, turning to face him again as she holds the door to the stock room open.  
"He was my favorite," Finn explains with a wide grin.  
Joolie tilts her head considerately, "I always liked Donatello."  
"Can I be Donatello?" He queries hopefully.  
"In your dreams," She snorts, passing over a box full of CDs and collecting one for herself.

He collects the photographs after his shift is finished, ignoring the look the girl behind the counter gives him, and heads home to add them to the project. He checks the answering machine for a message from Will and is annoyed to find that his friend still hasn't called (Or if he has, he hasn't left a message about how his date went). He stays up until close to midnight sticking photographs to the sheet of corkboard he bought at the art supply shop, but when he turns in for the night the phone still hasn't rung.

As he lies in the dark, breathing calmly and waiting to fall asleep, Finn wonders whether Will is avoiding him after what happened in his bedroom on Wednesday. The young man has avoided thinking about it as much as possible since it happened because trying to explain the sudden, impulsive desire he had to kiss Will leads to all sorts of thoughts he just isn't comfortable with. It's possible that the other man feels the same, but maybe he's not just avoiding thinking about it; he might have decided to start avoiding Finn completely.

With worry gnawing at his gut at the very idea of it, Finn decides that if the older man hasn't called with an explanation and a detailed description of his date by the time he gets back from Ringo's tomorrow he'll bite the bullet and phone Will himself.

* * *

"So what's up with you?" Joolie inquires as they're working behind the counter towards the end of the Sunday shift.  
"What do you mean?" Finn tries avoiding the question.  
"You've been chewing your nails for the last hour," She replies. "Either you're nervous about something or you took the starving artist role too literally and didn't get anything to eat at lunch."  
He watches her expectant expression and decides that she's impartial enough to give some honest advice. "I think one of my friends is mad at me," He explains.  
"That guy from your band?" She questions with a flicker of revulsion.  
"No. He's _definitely_ mad at me," Finn replies. He's been so busy with his new project that the band haven't been able to play a gig this weekend, Puck isn't pleased and the frostiness between them is growing.  
"Oh, well that's good," Joolie decides, smoothing over her fringe. "So who do you _think_ is mad at you?"  
"Will," He answers. "The older guy who came to see me on my trial shift."  
He sees the spark of recognition in her eyes, "Okay, so what did you do to piss him off?"  
The answer is sitting at the front of his mind (It's become too difficult to push it away) but he doesn't dare say it aloud, instead he omits it neatly from the story and skips to the end, "I'm not sure, but I asked him to call and tell me how his date on Friday went and I haven't heard from him."  
"Hm." She taps her fingers against her chin thoughtfully, "I can't think why he'd be angry. I mean, unless you set him up on the date and it was a total bust."  
Finn feels a nauseous lurch when he thinks about how he strong-armed the older man into returning the phone call, "I may have pushed him a little bit."  
"Then there is a strong chance he's sitting in an armchair with wounded masculine pride, hating you for being the one to unleash a vicious hell beast on him," Joolie opines. "I'd suggest ice-cream as an apology token, or whatever the manly version of ice-cream is."  
"Beer," He informs casually.  
"Huh." She raises an eyebrow, "So your transformation into a bohemian is complete."  
He flips her off (He isn't sure what a bohemian actually is, but her biting tone is enough for him to tell it was meant as an insult) and thinks about what she's said. He hopes the date wasn't a bust, but if it's a choice between that and Will being mad at him for their... _incident_ on Wednesday, he knows which he'd prefer.

There's still no message on the machine when he gets home, so he picks up the phone and dials Will's number, clenching his fingers for courage and conviction.  
"Hello?" It's not Will.  
"Oh, hey Bryan." Finn breathes out his tension, "Is Will there?"  
"Nope," The roommate answers apologetically. "Do you want me to take a message?"  
"No, it's-" The young man sighs and tries not to feel too disappointed. "Could you ask him to call me back?"  
"Can do," Bryan confirms.  
Finn drops the phone back into its cradle and falls back onto the bed. He wonders idly, as he stares at the ceiling, whether Will really wasn't there or if he's using his roommate as a call-screening service to make sure he doesn't have to talk to Finn.

He thinks back once again to the tiny shared moment: the flush of his skin, the glisten of saliva on the older man's lip and the slight movement Will had made towards him that might have made the moment into something much more. He feels a familiar stirring below the belt as he thinks about it and the reaction is enough to make him back away from the thought. He sits up and thinks about painting another coat onto his project for tomorrow, but his cock is already half hard inside his underwear and eager to be played with.

He closes the bedroom door and pulls out the Playboy he has hidden under the mattress. There's a model on page 19 that looks a lot like Quinn and he's spilled frustrated hormones over it hundreds of times. He strokes himself as he runs his eyes over the familiar curves, but the pouty lips and round breasts aren't exciting him like they normally do and the mental image of how Wednesday night could have ended keeps flickering to the forefront of his mind like a porn film run through a faulty projector.

He peels back the mattress again and retrieves the genuine dirty mag that Puck gave him for his birthday; no tasteful artistry or articles to conceal its purpose, just flat out pornography. He flicks through the pages in search of something to get him off, gritting his teeth as his traitorous mind keeps thinking about how the traces of Coca Cola would taste on Will's lips. He finds a photo spread set up to look like a corporate office, the lead model is a women in her thirties with a rack he honestly doubts any legitimate lawyer would be endowed with. In one shot she's sucking off a man wearing half-moon glasses and it brings Will Schuester back to him in a flash.

He thinks about Will getting his dick sucked, he'd be sweaty and panting with his curls mussed, maybe cursing in Spanish and begging for more in English. Finn speeds up the pace of the hand on his erection, thumb smearing precome across his swollen cockhead and now the woman is gone from the fantasy entirely; it's _him_ that has the taste of the older man's cock on his tongue and _he_ moans at the sensation of the solid length stretching his lips out and it's _him_ pulling needy little whimpers out of Will's mouth.

The thought of it isn't enough and he's too far gone with desire to pull back from his thoughts of Will now, so he lets his mind turn back to Wednesday night and the things that might have happened if he'd bridged that infinitesimal gap between them and caught the older man's enticing lower lip between his teeth. It would probably have been slow and cautious, a tender connection to match the love ballad that had been playing on the turntable; but right now Finn needs to come and so he pictures it hard and dirty. He lies back on the bed and imagines Will knelt over him, biting at his jaw and tugging on his cock with skilled fingers, whispering that he's wanted to _own _him like this since their eyes met in Peggy-Lu's diner.

It's that final thought that undoes him, Finn spurts out his release and stains the front of his t-shirt with pearlescent droplets. He jacks his softening dick to coax the last drops of his spunk out and wipes the sticky head with the hem of his t-shirt since it's already soiled. He's lying there waiting for his breath to come back to him when the phone rings.  
He gives it a wary look and then reaches over and lifts it from the cradle, "Hello?"  
"Hey Finn."  
A flush rises to his skin at the sound of the familiar voice, "H-hi Will." He hopes he sounds natural and not like someone who's just jerked off.  
"Bryan said you'd called," The older man prompts.  
"Oh, yeah..." He struggles to kick his post-orgasmic brain into gear. "I was wondering how your date went. You never- You never called." He tries not to make the last part sound too accusatory.  
"It went well," Will surmises.  
"So, are you gonna tell me anything or-?"  
"Her name is Emma," The older man responds fondly (Finn can't tell if it's because he's thinking about her or because of his impatient prompting. He feels a little pathetic for hoping it's the latter). "We met in the park and then went for coffee. I kissed her goodnight at her door. She's very nice and I'm seeing her again next Friday. Is that enough information for you?"  
"Yeah." The last question lacks any bite, so the young man hopes he'd overreacted in assuming Will was angry with him. "Thanks for calling."  
"It's no big deal. So, is there anything else?" Will asks.  
(I just jerked off thinking about you), "N-no, nothing."  
He bids goodbye and hangs up, then rubs his hands across his eyes tiredly. Shucking off his pants and turning the shirt inside out so the stains won't transfer onto any other clothes, Finn drops them both in the laundry hamper and grabs a towel so that he can shower off the sheen of sweat clinging to him.

* * *

Even if he wanted to think about the implications of his fantasy about Will (Which he _really_ doesn't), the last week of summer school starts today and so he's far too busy to stop and think it over.

He shows his weekend project to the class on Monday. His torn letter jacket is pinned to a large sheet of corkboard and the cuts he made in the letter jacket have been dabbed with dark red paint to resemble bleeding, especially around the gaping hole where the W had been. Pinned into the board surrounding the jacket is a border of 6x4, black and white shots of him sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest, totally naked and looking downcast.  
"What are you trying to tell us with this piece?" Ms. Defoe questions, looking it over calmly.  
"I, uh-" He squints as he tries to articulate the thought process behind his work. "I played on the football team from the start of Freshman year and I wore this letter jacket pretty much from the day I was given it. The jacket showed I was on the football team, being on the football team was why people knew me, so in a way the jacket _was_ my identity."  
Ms. Defoe nods, intrigued. "So why is the jacket torn, are you trying to say that your identity has been damaged?"  
"I guess," He answers uncertainly. "I think this summer I've sort of been coming to terms with the fact that high school is over. I'm not this person anymore." He gestures to the jacket.  
"This person no longer exists, as if they've been destroyed," The teacher remarks, beginning to understand the meaning behind the piece.  
"That's sort of what I was thinking, yeah," He agrees.  
"Then the photos..." She taps a finger against them.  
"They're sort of who I am without the jacket," He answers. "I'm not that person anymore, but I haven't quite figured out who I am instead."  
"The fetal position," Ms. Defoe comments on his posture. "To show that you're scared and alone-"  
"Um, yeah?" Finn offers hesitantly. (Really he'd just not wanted to show his junk).  
"-the black and white to represent the bleakness of your uncertainty," The teacher continues raving enthusiastically.  
"Yeah." (And the black and white prints were cheaper than color).  
"The killing blow." She reaches up and touches the tiny hole in the back of the cloth Finn had cut by accident when gouging out the hole left from the W. "An entry wound from behind, a gunshot that blows your heart right out of your chest." She flexes her fingers out as she withdraws her hand, to mimic the visceral spray, "As if society hasn't prepared you for the change, it's come at you unexpectedly." She takes a few steps back and looks the project over, tilting her head to either side and then making a rectangle with the thumb and forefinger of each hand and looking at the jacket through it. "This is a really impressive piece," She praises. "I assume this is the work you want to submit for grading?" Since the teacher's reaction to the project seems so favorable Finn confirms that this is the piece he'll be resting the majority of his grade for the class on.

It means he's more or less finished the art course and so the time he'll spend in the next two classes this week will be free time... but that still doesn't mean he has time to contemplate whether one bout of masturbation while thinking of a guy makes him gay or not, (It totally _doesn't_!) because he has the last of his History exams on Thursday and so he'll be busy reviewing the Great Depression and World War II. He scored an impressive (By his standards anyway) 87 on the third test, so as long as he stays focused for the final hurdle and answers all the questions with the same focus and drive he's put into the previous papers he'll get the grade he needs to graduate. Then he can forget all about the stupid class and never have to take the subject ever again.

* * *

There's a buzz of excitement in the air on Friday that hasn't been present among the unenthusiastic summer school art class at all for the past six weeks. Everyone knows that after today they're finally free from McKinley High, free to take on full time shifts or to enjoy the last weeks of the summer before they leave for college. Finn and Brittany are among the leaders of the crowd pushing towards the door when the clock hits ten to twelve, but before they can make their getaway Ms. Defoe asks Finn to wait behind.  
"Did I do something wrong?" He frets as he returns to the classroom and stands by the teacher's desk.  
"Not at all," She assures, collecting up pencils that have been left scattered about the room and returning to the desk herself. "Your project is going to be one of those displayed at the Art and Culture festival."  
Finn nods, "You already told me that."  
"Well..." The teacher forces open a stiff drawer on her desk and rummages around inside, "Every year I'm permitted to recommend two Senior students for placement at Antioch College. Normally those recommendations go to students who complete the class during the standard school year, but I happen to have one left over." She finds a pamphlet for the school in the drawer and hands it across to Finn, along with an application form.  
"You're giving this to me?" He questions, confused.  
"Your piece was _inspiring_," Ms. Defoe declares, with a passionate gleam in her eyes. "You have some good technical skill too that could be really honed if you studied under the right tutor."  
"But, well, the new semester starts in under a month," Finn points out.  
"You'd be accepted on a late placement, of course," She agrees. "But if you send your portfolio in by the end of the week, they can evaluate it and if you get in you'd have your place by the end of September."  
"Thanks, Ms. Defoe." The young man looks over the pamphlet uncertainly, but takes it with him when he leaves.

He drives Brittany to work and goes into the cybercafe with her, looking over to the computer booths on the right hand side of the store.  
"So, how exactly do you use the computers here?" Finn questions.  
"Oh." The blond looks at him wide-eyed, her lower lip trembling slightly, "I don't know how to turn on a computer."  
"No, I mean- How much do I have to pay to use one?" He rewords his query.  
"Two dollars for half an hour," She speaks cheerfully, sounding entirely rehearsed from some training exercise. "If you pay for two hours, you get a free croissant."  
He pays for half an hour and she gives him a laminated login card. He takes a seat at one of the empty booths and types the details from the card into the login menu, the screen loads into a standard desktop layout except it has the coffeehouse's logo as the background instead of the default Windows 98 wallpaper.

He searches 'Antioch College, Ohio' on Yahoo and clicks a link from the list of results to open the school's website. The computer automatically logs him out after his half hour is up and he isn't done browsing, so he returns to the counter and buys another computer session. He ends up earning himself the free croissant and buys a hot cocoa to go with it.  
"So what are you looking at?" Brittany slides a chair over from the empty booth next to Finn's and watches the text on the screen.  
"Ms. Defoe thinks I should apply to this liberal arts college in Yellow Springs," He answers, scrolling down the page. "I'm looking for information about it."  
She hums thoughtfully, "Most guys look up porn."

It's mid-afternoon when he gets home and he spends the next few hours doing housework as an apology to his mom for Friday's dinner. As he works his way through the chores his mind is still focused on the application form and he wonders who he can turn to for advice. He briefly considers his mom, but she just seems to want him out of the house by the end of the summer and so he can't really expect her to weigh up the choices fairly. Quinn wants him in Columbus so they'll only be a three and a half hour journey away from each other for holidays and long weekends. Telling Puck he's thinking about applying to a liberal arts college would be an open invitation to gay jokes from now to the end of eternity...

Will would listen, he wouldn't judge and he'd offer honest advice. The only problem is that Finn isn't sure if he can look the older man in the eye when he spent his morning shower palming his cock and imagining he had Will pressed up against the condensation of the clear plastic door.

He pounds out his frustration making dough from scratch and then spreads tomato sauce from a jar and shredded cheddar over the smooth base. There isn't enough ham, pepper or mushrooms in the fridge to serve as a decent topping so he decides plain pizza will do fine and puts the baking tray into the oven. His mom arrives home just as it has finished baking and finds him at the kitchen counter, shaping the finished meal into a foldover.  
"You cooked?" She cocks an eyebrow.  
"I also mowed the lawn, vacuumed and cleaned the bathroom," He informs, slicing the pizza in half and serving it up onto two plates.  
"You know you don't have to do all this," She points out, collecting a bag of Fresh Express from the crisper. "I'm not angry with you."  
"Don't complain if I'm actually doing housework," Finn teases. He eats quickly and then heads out into the hall to collect his keys, "I'm going out."  
"I don't suppose you'd wash the dishes before you go?" His mom inquires.  
He grins as he leans down to kiss her goodbye, "You said I didn't have to do everything."  
She responds with a jesting sigh, "Well it was nice while it lasted, I suppose."

* * *

As he stands outside the door to apartment no. 7 Finn tries to calm his nervous heartbeat. He reminds himself that he's seen Will lots of times before and there's no reason to assume he'll be struck by the insane desire to kiss the older man again the second he opens the door.  
"Finn, what are you doing here?" Will questions, leaning on the door and looking baffled (Okay, so maybe he wants to kiss him a little bit).  
"I just wanted to talk to you about something," He answers, shrugging with the shoulder that's carrying his backpack.  
"Okay." The older man steps aside and they cross through to the lounge. "So what is it?" He prompts, arms crossed over his chest guardedly.  
Finn can see from his friend's body language that their shared moment of over a week ago has been on the older man's mind too, but when he thinks of having a conversation about it his mental state is reminiscent of his reaction to a haunted house during second grade; namely a lot of terrified screaming and fleeing in terror.  
"I wanted your advice," He answers instead, going with the plan he'd made and handing over the pamphlet he'd been given that morning.  
"I know this place," Will remarks, looking at the cover page. "Yellow Springs, just east of Dayton, right?"  
"Yeah."  
"So why are you looking into it?" The older man inquires, "I didn't think this is the kind of place you'd be interested in going."  
"It's not really," He answers honestly. "But Ms. Defoe gave me this after class today, she said she's allowed to give two recommendations a year and she was giving one to me."  
"She must think highly of you," Will remarks.  
"I don't know, maybe," Finn replies humbly. "I'm not the kind of guy that teachers expect to do well; the only academic achievement I've got is a bronze medal for coming third in Chem Lab last year." He picks at a hole in the knee of his track pants where the lining is showing through, uncomfortable with admitting his mediocre academic performance.  
"For me an achievement in Chem Lab was making it through a lesson without blowing anything up," The older man chuckles, self-deprecatingly.  
Finn looks up from the hole in the material and grins in return, consoled to hear his friend sympathizing rather than judging him. "But hey, now I've got my art project I can throw that medal in the trash," He jokes.  
"I'll have to see it some time," Will replies.  
"The medal?" The young man lifts an eyebrow, perplexed.  
"The art project," The older man clarifies, rolling his eyes.  
"Oh. Well, you can," The student assures. "It's gonna be on show at the Art and Culture festival. I've got to be there and it's gonna suck, so you'd save me from death by boredom if you came along."  
Will nods mildly and reads over the first page of the school pamphlet, "So are you seriously thinking about applying to this place?"  
"It'd be cool to go somewhere without having to play second string on the football team until the starting squad graduates," He answers, then moves onto the couch beside Will and shifts close to look through the pamphlet. "And some of the classes look really cool." The student runs a finger down the course list, "'Percussion in Art', I mean; that'd be perfect for me."  
"Do you want to study art?" The older man questions.  
Finn squints as he thinks about it. "I haven't really thought about it before."  
"Don't you have that football scholarship to State?" Will questions. "Are there any courses there that interest you?"  
"Not really," He dismisses. "Why, do you think I should go to State?"  
"Antioch was Terri's first choice when she came to choosing colleges," The older man answers. "She'd been working on her portfolio all through high school but they still rejected her. This place is small, exclusive and even if you do get in; their rates are so extortionate you'll get yourself into debt until you're my age just taking a four year course."  
"Quinn wants me to go to State," Finn says openly. "Mom just wants me to go _somewhere_. Puck wants me to be a dropout like him so we can drive across America, living out of a van and playing shows wherever we can find them until we get to LA and get a record deal."  
Will listens patiently and then asks the question, "Where do _you_ want to go?"  
The student hangs his head (Because isn't _that_ the million dollar question?), "I don't know."  
"Then did you ever think that maybe that's what you need to be asking?" The older man remarks kindly.  
"So you don't think I should bother sending in an application to Antioch?" He questions cynically.  
"If you decide that you'd be happy studying for a BA at a school of under 500 students, then there's no harm in sending off a sample of your work to see if they'll let you in," Will encourages. "For all I know, you're gonna be the next Michelangelo."  
The younger man grins, "He was always my favorite." At the blank look he receives, he clarifies his statement, "Ninja turtle."  
Will mirrors his grin when he realizes, "I liked Raphael."

They argue about the merits of their respective favorite turtles and then move on to talking about the ThunderCats. The conversation is a return to the easy, familiar discussion style they've shared in the past and Finn begins to realize that he's been treating Will a lot like a horror movie monster since last Wednesday. A tiny glimpse of something had scared him and he's been fretting over it and letting the shadows of his imagination feed that fear, but now that he's stood up and looked unflinchingly he can see that the original scare was blown out of proportion.

About an hour into their discussion Will catches sight of the clock. "Oh damn, is that the time?" He exclaims, comparing it to his wristwatch. "Emma's going to be here in half an hour."  
"Oh right, you have your date tonight," Finn recalls. He squashes down the flicker of disappointment when he thinks about it, (He's beginning to recover from his freakout about Will and he doesn't need anything to set it off again).  
"Yes, and I haven't even started getting ready," The older man comments, bordering on panic as he leaps up from the couch.  
"Okay, dude. Relax," The younger man instructs. "I've been helping you with the dating thing for weeks now, so I can help out now too."  
"Okay, you're right." Will breathes out deeply.  
"Is that what you're wearing?" He prompts.  
The older man looks down at the ratty white t-shirt and sweatpants he'd worn to the gym on his way home from work, "Does this look like the kind of thing I'd wear on a date?" He challenges, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice again.  
"Well, I don't know where you're taking her," Finn retorts. "Maybe you were going somewhere casual."  
"We're going to see a movie," Will answers, calmer and contrite.  
"Not _Legally Blonde_?" He prompts warily.  
The older man grins and relaxes significantly, "Thankfully no. Emma has a thing about sticky cinema floors, so we're going to the drive-in theater in Dayton. There's a double feature of classic musicals playing; _Singin' in the Rain_ and _My Fair Lady_."  
"Sounds like fun," The younger man comments with false cheer. "So what _are_ you going to wear?"  
"I haven't decided yet," Will answers.  
"Okay," Finn decides. "You go shower and I'll pick something out for you."

In Will's bedroom, the young man opens the doors to the wardrobe and spends some time searching through the assortment of blazers, sweaters, dress shirts and slacks. He finally picks out a clean, pressed shirt and spends a few extra minutes selecting a mahogany-colored vest to go with it. (A voice in his head points out that he's _never_ this particular when choosing his own outfits and questions why he cares about Will's appearance, but he brushes it off forcibly). Setting them down on the bed gently, so that he won't crease the meticulously ironed fabric, he checks in the dresser for a pair of the jeans he knows Will is so fond of matching up to smart shirts and ties.

He can hear the older man singing _Talk Dirty To Me_ at a muted volume (Most likely trying to _stop_ him hearing, obviously a failed venture) over the sound of the shower running and as he takes a seat at the desk he can't help but smile softly. He rocks back on the chair and drums a mindless beat out against his thighs as he listens to the sound of the water turning off.

Finn makes an effort not to stare (Or drool, or pop a boner right there) when the older man appears in the doorway because Will is even fitter than he'd anticipated. Of course, he knew that the older man kept trim and in shape, but the sight of his chest, abs and the furry trail leading from his bellybutton down into the hemline of the towel knotted at his waist stirs something up inside of Finn.  
"I, uh, didn't know if underwear was going to be important for your date or not, s-so you should pick some for yourself."  
Will chuckles and droplets run enticingly down his flushed skin as the sound makes his stomach muscles spasm, "Don't worry, I'm not planning anything _that_ exciting."  
Finn nods mutely and chews his lip, fingers twitching with the desire to touch, tweak and tug the older man's nipples (Hardened from the cool air in the room and dusky brown like a penny) and see if he can wring a startled groan from Will's throat.  
"I'll just wait outside," He declares, standing up and fleeing the room so that Will can get dressed in privacy. He hopes the older man will assume the lump in his pants was just a crease in the material and wonders if he should stand in front of the open freezer for a few minutes.

The older man returns to the lounge a few minutes later, still running the towel over his hair but fully dressed.  
"Do I look okay?" He inquires, setting the towel down and tugging on the bottom of the vest fastidiously.  
He looks amazing, he looks edible, he has those tiny creases in the corners of his eyes from where he's smiling subtly, he smells of magnolia shower gel and woodsy aftershave, Finn wants to tear off the clothes he picked out and press kisses to every bare inch of the older man's body.  
"You look great," He answers, a little hoarsely and regrets not having followed through on the freezer plan.

There's a timid pattering at the door and Will looks across to it in alarm. "Can you stall her for me?" He requests, retreating back to the bathroom with the towel. "I've still got to do my hair."  
"Okay, sure," Finn agrees. He heads over to the door and finds a short woman with vibrantly red, wavy hair and a canary yellow, ruffled blouse waiting on the doorstep. He does a double take, "Ms. Pillsbury?"  
"Oh?" She takes a tiny step back and her brown eyes go wide (Wider than normal). "I'm sorry, I must have the wrong apartment."  
"No, erm. If you're Emma, Will will just be a few minutes." He gestures over his shoulder and stands aside to let her in.

"So are you-?" She starts and then stops. They're standing about in the lounge and the awkward meter keeps going up a notch with each passing moment. "Will said he had a roommate," She remarks.  
"Oh no, I'm just a friend," Finn answers. "Bryan is- Bryan's not here."  
"Right... So, uh, how do you and Will know each other?"  
"Oh, we, just y'know, hang out and stuff," He answers lamely.  
The conversation is saved from a climactic arrival at the summit of the awkward meter when Will returns from the bathroom with his messy shower curls neatly tamed and returned to their usual style.  
"Hey." He smiles and leans down to press a kiss to Emma's cheek. She flushes a little and her whole face is a beacon of intensive joy; Finn tries not to hate her too much.  
"I should leave you to your date then," The younger man comments. He collects his backpack, claps a hand to Will's shoulder and leaves the apartment with a final remark of, "Have a nice night." He keeps the insincere smile on his face all the way down the stairs and out the front door, then lets it slip from his face as he crosses the darkened road to where he's parked the Aries.

He slams the driver's side door behind him fiercely as he gets behind the wheel and fumbles around in his pocket for the keys. His breast feels like it's full of Siamese fighting fish, while the little voice at the back of his brain has stepped up onto the soapbox with a megaphone and is shouting at him to acknowledge the biological reaction he had to the sight of a dripping wet, compactly muscular, lovable but dorky, thirty-six year old man.  
"It was nothing," He proclaims aloud, sliding the key into the ignition and starting the car. "I don't think about him like that. I don't think about _guys_ like that. I'm not gay!"  
(Then why did he feel like his insides had frozen solid when Will kissed Emma in front of him?) He doesn't have an answer to that question, so he promptly knocks the little voice back into the ignored corner of his mind and guides the Aries out of the parking space.


	5. Chapter 5

When Joolie asks him why he's in such a sour mood on Saturday morning he tells her he's hungover from the party Quinn dragged him to the night before (Not entirely untrue). She offers to buy him a _churro_ from the food cart at the end of the row when their lunch break comes round and the promise of sugary fried dough is enough for him to keep his temper with her as they spend the morning restocking the shelves.  
"So does your hangover have anything to do with your plan to apologize to your friend with beer?" She inquires as she collects a misplaced Destiny's Child album from the pop section (It's not uncommon for customers to pick something up and put it down again in the wrong place) and passes it to him, so he can return to its rightful spot in the R&B/soul section.  
"No," He answers, slotting the CD into place between Des'Ree and Diana Ross.  
"But you did apologize to him?" She prompts, pushing the stock box along the ground with her foot as they move further down the aisle.  
"No, it turned out everything was cool. The date went well, he had another one last night. I met his girlfriend, she's nice." Even to him ever word sounds false.  
"Uh-huh," She remarks disbelievingly. "I'll buy you two _churros_ if you stop the BS."  
He stops in front of the pop sections, turning away from the *NSYNC and Backstreet Boys CDs to look over at Joolie. She's got a new streak of color in her dark hair and her t-shirt has the Sesame Street cookie monster on it, her eyebrow is cocked expectantly. He knows she is a woman with no time for crap and if he tells her the truth she'll just tell him to suck it up and deal, but she isn't going to back down either.  
"I sort of don't want him to be dating her." (Or _anyone_).  
"Yeah, I figured that," She remarks, turning back to the pop display and digging a few Christina Aguilera albums out of the supply box. "Why not?"  
"Because I felt like total crap when his date dropped by and I just had to leave," He confesses, not revealing the deeper reasons that made him feel that way.  
"He's allowed to have a life, right?" Joolie prompts, kicking the box another few paces.  
"Well yeah," Finn agrees instantly. "But we've been hanging out for most of the summer and now he's got dates with Emma and I lose out if it comes down to call waiting." He knows that a lot of this hasn't actually happened yet, but he's been through GRISIS (Girlfriend-Related Intense Social Isolation Syndrome, but it sounds cooler as an acronym because it rhymes with crisis) before and knows what the symptoms will be. "I'm going to college in two weeks, I just want to spend some time with him before I go."  
"So have you tried telling him that?" She phrases it as a suggestion because she correctly assumes that he hasn't.  
"I don't want to-"  
"Ugh," She cuts him off frustratedly. "What is it with guys and not being able to just tell someone how they feel. Suck it up, be a big boy and ask him to hang with you when he's got some free time. Is that really so hard?"  
He's a little offended by her patronizing outburst, but she more than makes up for it with the _churros_.

When he gets home from work he decides to follow his colleague's advice and dials Will's number.  
"Hello?" The sound of the older man's voice sends a little shiver through Finn.  
"Hey Will. Puck found us a gig at a bar on Glenn Avenue, Wednesday night," The young man explains. "You want to go?"  
"Glenn Avenue?" The older man repeats. "Off of Fourth Street?"  
"Yup."  
"With the 75 only about a thousand feet away. Don't you think that'll be a bit noisy?"  
"Hey even better, nobody will be able to hear us play," Finn jokes.  
The older man chuckles warmly, "I'd love to, Finn, but the middle of the week doesn't really suit me; I'd have to get up early for work the next day... Maybe some other time."  
"Friday?" The young man prompts instantly.  
"Huh?"  
"Now that I'm done with summer school Puck has us booked solid," Finn elaborates. "We're playing at a place called Mangoes on West Street, just past the Northland Plaza."  
"Emma and I have a date on Friday," Will interjects.  
"Oh... Well, maybe you could bring her along," He suggests, twirling the cord of the phone with his finger hopelessly.  
"I don't think she'd really _appreciate_ your music," The older man comments. "But I'll tell her you were kind enough to make the offer."  
"Sure." Finn bites his lip and goes for his last ditch effort, "So are you still gonna come to the Art and Culture Festival on Saturday?"  
"Oh yes," Will remarks brightly and a small part of the younger man is dancing in triumph. "I have to see your masterpiece."  
"And save me from my boredom," He reminds.  
"That too," The older man agrees fondly. "So what time is-?"  
"Open doors at 7pm sharp, closes at 11:30pm," Finn answers promptly. "There's gonna be a few exhibits in the art studio, but the main events are going on in the gymnasium."  
"So I'll meet you in the art studio," Will deadpans.  
"Hey!" Finn bites back playfully, "I'll have you know that my project is gonna be the main attraction of the Senior's, summer school class, community-identity project, art display."  
"Wow, that really is an honor," The older man teases.  
"I know right?" He keeps playing along, "I'm thinking of renting the tux I wore to Prom."

* * *

In the end he _doesn't_ rent the tux he wore to Prom, but Quinn is pissed off, Puck is flirting with every girl he has a good rapport with (Not a large group), Santana is making mean comments about how everywhere she looks there is an eyesore and Brittany quickly grew sleepy and wants to go home; so in all the ways that count, it _is_ like Prom.

Ms. Defoe finds him hanging about with his friends about an hour into the evening and gives him a quick rundown of the schedule.  
"The younger students are presenting their work first, so you'll be making your unveiling at 9:30 with the rest of the Senior class."  
"I have to make an unveiling?" Finn questions, not comfortable with the idea.  
"It's nothing too serious," The teacher assures casually, sliding her loose bangles further up her slim wrists. "It's mostly an event to put on the official program. You'll just have to give a talk about your work and answer a few questions from the audience."  
"There's going to be questions?" The young man repeats apprehensively.  
"Nothing too complicated or long-winded," She remarks. "Just some questions from the parents and, I think there's some reporters from the local newspaper..." She looks around and then points to Jacob Ben Israel and a spindly older man with thick stubble and a camera equipped with a lens the size of a small telescope. "So you'll be sure to come to the art display by twenty-past, just to be ready?"  
"Yeah, I'll be there," He agrees.  
"Great." She claps her hands together, producing a tinkling scale from the bangles at her wrists, and drifts away.  
"Ms. Defoe," Finn calls after the teacher, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket for the papers he'd put there to keep them safe, but she wanders away without hearing him. "Fine, I guess I'll give her them later," He mumbles to himself, putting the papers back in his pocket.

He continues down the makeshift walkway of open space left between the various exhibits and finds his friends amid a scattered audience seated in foldout chairs before the faded cloth background and cardboard scenery leftover from last year's school performance of _Once Upon A Mattress_. He takes a seat beside Quinn and gladly accepts the paper plate of canapes he'd asked her to hold onto while he was talking to the art teacher.  
"So what's going on?" He whispers his question.  
"A poetry recital," She answers dully.  
"It's not even fun to make fun of people anymore," Santana laments as they watch Mr. DeMartino assisting Mr. O'Neill's poetry demonstration (The History teacher has a tendency to stress the wrong word in every sentence, so the sonnet he's reading is a peculiar thing to listen to). "I mean, we're never gonna see these people again. What's the point in mocking them?"  
"It's funny," Puck reminds.  
"Oh yeah," The Latina grins at the young man beside her.  
"What's a _larken_?" Brittany asks with obvious puzzlement.  
"Some kind of tree?" Finn guesses wildly, eating canapes from the paper plate on his lap. He doesn't pay much attention to the recital and keeps checking his watch. It's a little after eight and Will _promised_ he'd be here, but there's another two and a half hours for the older man to show up so he tries not to be impatient.  
"So this officially blows," Someone remarks, dropping into the seat besides Finn.  
The young man turns and sees a long streak of blue dyed into sleek black hair. "Hey Tina," He greets, surprised by her presence.  
"What do you want, Morticia?" Santana demands, glaring at the Asian girl.  
Finn decides to intervene smoothly before the situation can turn ugly. Standing up, he holds a hand out to pull Tina out of her chair too. "We're gonna go get drinks," He declares. "Anybody want something? Santana," He looks at the Latina specifically, narrowing his eyes, "You want anything, like maybe some coke?" She narrows her own eyes in response, but heeds the warning and keeps her mouth shut.

"So what was that about?" Tina remarks, looking over her shoulder as they circulate away from the poetry reading and pass Rachel Berry dressed in full Renaissance get-up.  
"Don't worry about it," Finn dismisses, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "So, you were saying about how this thing totally sucks balls..."  
She grins at his open remark, but there's a shared sympathy between the two of them in the knowledge that they'll be stuck here at least another hour and a half so they can make their presentations, "So what are you doing now that summer school's over?"  
"I've been working weekends at the record store at the West Elm Mall," He answers. "I'm just gonna stick to that til I leave for OSU next Monday." They walk in silence past a booth where a Freshman girl is scratching out a tune on a violin. "How about you, did you hear back from any of the colleges you applied to yet?" He inquires as they blessedly pass outside the noise range of the violin and head out to the soda machine in the hall.  
"Not yet," She answers with a sigh. "There's still a chance of late acceptance, but it's starting to look like I'm gonna have to apply again next Fall."  
Finn winces at the notion of having to stay in Lima for a year while others in their graduating year will be escaping to greener pastures. He barges the machine with his shoulder as he puts the last quarter in the coin slot and, with a deep rumble, two cans drop into the slot. He holds one up to Tina, it's a small token of his sympathy, but she accepts it appreciatively nonetheless.  
"There's something different about you," He comments as they sip from the refrigerated cans and head back into the gym. "But I can't figure out what it is."  
"That's no big surprise. You never really talked to me before," She responds, shrugging.  
(That's it!), "You're not stuttering," He declares loudly.  
She grins impishly and taps a finger against her nose, "You'll find out why later." With that, she spins on her heel and heads over to the art display.

"Why were you talking to her?" Quinn demands when he sits back down at the poetry reading.  
"What, Tina?" He queries. "She was in my art class, we talked a couple of times."  
"You talked to her?" The blond repeats disbelievingly. "The quarterback just happened to have a conversation with the weird funeral girl?"  
"I'm not the quarterback anymore," He reminds, picking up the plate of canapes. "High school's over."  
"Are you sleeping with her?" She accuses flatly.  
Finn chokes on a cheese cracker, "What? No!"  
"Admit it," She hisses, slapping him on the arm repeatedly. "You've been cheating on me with some freaky goth chick and that's why we hardly see each other anymore."  
"We've not seen each other because I've been in summer school," He reminds her. "Which is _where_ I know Tina from, as a friend."  
"School ended a week ago and the first thing we've done together since then is come to _this_ dreadful thing," She argues.  
"I've been busy with the band." He turns to Puck for support.  
"Hey, you could still find time to take Quinn somewhere," The mohawked teen argues.  
"Yeah, well you would say that," Finn snaps. "You certainly found the time to take her, even though she was my girlfriend."  
"Oh dude!" Puck recoils, "Low blow."  
"No, it was a _low blow_ when you slept with my girlfriend behind my back," He retorts pedantically.  
"So is _that_ it?" Quinn asks, "Are you still punishing me for a mistake I made two years ago?" She leaps up out of her seat, "I'm going home. Call me when you learn how to be a man and forgive people when they do something wrong."  
As the former-cheerleader storms away, Finn becomes slowly aware that the sparse audience for the poetry recital have turned their attention towards them.  
"Finn, um, is everything alright back there?" Mr. O'Neill inquires timidly.  
Spontaneously, Finn stands up and pulls Puck with him; directing the mohawked teen to mimic him in bowing grandly. "Just some improv theater Mr. O," He lies.  
"Oh well, my word; splendid." The literature teacher leads the small audience in giving a round of applause, though he seems to be the only one who actually bought the excuse.  
"Wait, so does that mean Puck and Quinn _didn't_ sleep together?" Brittany asks bewildered. (Okay, so maybe Mr. O'Neill isn't the only one.)

Puck bluntly tells Finn that he'll call with news about their next performance and then leaves. Finn can tell that the slow progress they'd made towards repairing the cracks in the band have been made redundant with that one brief fight, it seems that any time Quinn comes between the two of them there will be damage done to their old friendship.

* * *

"... and so, I like to think that the sun in the corner represents hope for the future of America." The girl (Finn was in class with her ten hours a week for six weeks and yet he doesn't have a clue what her name is) presenting her piece bows to the small crowd and gets down from behind the podium. Finn is sat with the other students waiting to make their five minute presentations and he's watching the assembled crowd for some sign of Will. The older man still hasn't arrived and unless he materializes in the next five minutes he's going to miss Finn's moment in the spotlight.

"My p-p-piece is made from an old m-m-mannequin torso I p-purchased at a clothes salon," Tina introduces her busk and Finn notes the return of her stutter. "I painted the f-face to mirror my own because my w-work is a reflection o-of me." She's looking down at the podium with her face obscured by her long hair, so Finn figures the audience is gonna have to take her word on that. "The i-image on the chest is a d-design I created to reflect my wish for f-f-freedom, both p-physical and c-creative."  
"So what about the bandage over its mouth?" Ms. Barch questions.  
"The b-bandage represents..." The artist stops short and everybody seems to think the tension has gotten to her, but with a dramatic flash of her hand she reaches out and tears the bandage from the busk. "The bandage is a lie!" She declares boldly. She straightens her shoulders and looks out to the audience with a noticeable change in her tone and posture, "I've been faking a stutter since grade school because I learned that it made people leave me alone. I was a wallflower throughout high school and I said more with the way I look and dress than I did with any words."  
"So what's your point?" The physics teacher asks.  
Tina turns back to the mannequin and draws the audience's attention to an intricate symbol drawn onto the chin. "This symbol is dào, a word in Chinese that means not only speech, but refers to a path; a way of living with reason and direction. I won't hide behind the easy lie anymore, I'm a new person."  
"How does that feel?" A woman at the front prompts.  
"It feels amazing," The Asian girl answers, smiling abashedly and flushing slightly as the group applaud her. "Thank you." She curtsies and returns to her seat.

Finn is up next and so he reluctantly takes his place at the podium, "Uh, hi... I don't really have a speech prepared, so..." He trails off and looks across to the corkboard being placed on the display easel by one of the Junior students who'd volunteered to help out with the festival, looking to earn extra credit for next year. "This is my piece."  
He rocks back on his heels and watches the audience observe his project. "What are you trying to say with this work?" Ms. Defoe spurs him on from the sidelines.  
"Well... The guys on the football team, we all had one of these jackets and we wore them so much that we were recognizable in them. Now that school's over, we're not on the team anymore and so the jackets have lost that meaning."  
He leaps upon the chance to stop his rambling when a woman near the back raises her hand to ask a question, "Don't you think the gore in this piece could be seen as offensive?"  
Finn blinks and looks to the ruined jacket again, "I'm not sure what you mean."  
"There are kids who get beat up in high school, kids that get killed. A bloodstained letter jacket could be a nasty memento for some people," She elaborates.  
"That isn't what- That isn't what I was trying to say," He answers. "I wanted to show that the person I was in high school is dead, but there's somebody else underneath?"  
"She has a point." A man in one of the middle rows speaks up, "Don't you think the kids who were killed by some crazed classmate who'd listened to too much Marylin Manson would much prefer to be you. What makes _your_ life so bad?"  
"I'm- I'm sorry," Finn speaks up profusely. "I didn't mean to offend anybody."  
As a bout of whispering passes through the crowd and the mood turns nasty, Ms. Defoe makes her way to the front and collects his corkboard from the display easel, gesturing for the first of the students who took art class during the school year to come up and present their piece.

"I'm sorry about that," The teacher apologizes once she's led him away from the crowd. "I didn't anticipate that reaction."  
The young man shrugs, "It's not a big deal."  
"No, it is," She asserts, "And it's my fault. I should have seen the other ways your piece could be interpreted and given you enough time to write a speech that would explain the true beauty of your message."  
"There's no beauty, it's a stained jacket pinned to a corkboard," He returns levelly. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out the pamphlet and application form she'd given him a week before, "I don't think I'm cut out to be an artist, Ms. Defoe."  
"You're sure?" She inquires, eying the forms sadly.  
"I sent my summer school grades to OSU. Their admin office called to confirm my place yesterday," The student answers. "I'm moving into the residence halls next Monday."  
"Well, I wish you the best," She declares, smiling kindly.  
Finn hands over the forms and makes one final remark, "I think you should give your recommendation to Tina."  
She looks thoughtful, then gives a small nod. "I think that's a very good idea." As he turns to walk away she holds up the sheet of corkboard, "Do you want this back?"  
Finn looks down at the torn, stained jacket and acknowledges that if he doesn't take it then it's probably going to end up in the trash. He smiles thinly as he thinks about what the art project has meant to him over the past fortnight and decides that ending its life at the bottom of a dumpster is fitting with the message he wanted to make.

As he's making his way out of the gym, Jacob Ben Israel jogs over to him with a tape recorder.  
"How does it feel to have your piece removed from the display?" The wannabe reporter asks, holding the tape recorder out to him.  
"No comment," Finn answers blandly.  
"Do you have any response to the controversies raised by the insensitive concept of your artwork?"  
"I didn't mean to offend anybody," The young man repeats his apology.  
"What do you have to say about the rumor that your supposedly staged argument with Quinn Fabray earlier this evening was entirely genuine?"  
Finn frowns down at the tape recorder, "Aren't you meant to be a real reporter now, don't you have better things to do than spread gossip?"  
The ginger teen pouts and makes to reply, but at that moment his friend with the camera appears, "Jacob, you gotta come take a look at this."

The scandalous delight in the photographer's voice makes Finn follow the reporting pair back to the art display and observe the latest piece being presented. The wheelchair kid Puck used to torment (Alvin? Artie? R.V.?) is discussing his prolonged documentation of the drug and underage drinking that goes on among the youth of their town. On the display easel beside him is a large poster board of photos, they vary in size but the centerpiece shows Santana Lopez snorting cocaine at Matt Rutherford's house party and has been tagged in graffiti-print style with the phrase 'Wasted youth?'  
"I think we've found our story," Jacob declares with delight. He turns to see Finn watching the presentation too and holds his recorder out again, "Do you have any comment to make about the activities shown in those photographs?"  
He thinks about his own evidence of what Santana got up to at that particular party and how easy it would be to let Jacob have the prints. He knows that if their positions were reversed the Latina would sell him out in a heartbeat, but it is that knowledge that leads him to reply, "No comment."  
He walks away, leaving Jacob Ben Israel to collect quotes from anybody who will talk to him and his partner to take photographs. He's comfortable in the knowledge that he's better than Santana Lopez and that security is worth more than a million points on the cosmic scale.

* * *

There's no message waiting on the answering machine on Sunday evening and Finn feels affronted. He'd expected Will to have phoned to explain why he hadn't shown up to the Art and Culture festival like he'd promised to, but has to reflect that Will's presence in the gym wouldn't have stopped him from falling out with Quinn or make the audience appreciate his 'offensive' artwork; so perhaps it is for the best that the older man wasn't there to see him lose his cool and follow it up by gaping like a goldfish in front of a crowd of amateur art critics. Still, he has a compulsive desire to know _why_ his friend blew him off.  
The dial tone stretches on at such length that Finn is expecting the machine to pick up and starts mentally articulating the message he's going to leave, but at the last possible moment the call goes through, "Hello?"  
"Hey Will," He aims for light and breezy.  
"Finn... Hi," The older man replies. "How are you?"  
"Sorta sucky," He confesses. "The Art and Culture festival was a total bomb." (You know, the Art and Culture festival you _said_ you'd be at).  
"Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't there; I had some work that came up at the last minute. I called to tell you I couldn't make it but you must have already gone."  
"Look, if you spent the night with Emma you can tell me. I won't be mad," Finn assures.  
"Emma?" Will repeats, confused.  
"Ever since you and her got together I hardly see you," The young man explains.  
"Yeah, well..." The older man coughs uncomfortably. "Emma is a little confused about how you and I are friends and, well, I didn't exactly know how to explain it."  
"So you _have_ been avoiding me!" Finn says, part triumphant that he'd been right, but mostly despondent that he'd been right.  
"No, I-" Will's denial dies on his lips.  
"You aren't the first guy to put a girlfriend ahead of everything else," The young man assures. "I mean, I get it. I just thought we were closer than that."  
"It's just- Well- When Emma asked why an eighteen-year-old would want to hang out with me, I sort of had to wonder myself," The older man explains.  
"Uh, because I like hanging out with you," Finn provides the obvious answer. "I didn't realize there was an age limit of the friends you're allowed to have, but I guess I must not be sophisticated enough for you or something. Maybe I should just-"  
"Please don't," Will interrupts, he sounds sincerely apologetic. "I've been a jerk and ignored you all week which is totally unfair to you. Please, let me make it up to you."  
The younger man pauses, his anger swiftly fading, "How?"  
"What are you doing right now?"  
"Nothing," He answers honestly.  
"Bryan's on a date tonight, so the apartment is free. Do you want to come over? We'll play some records or watch a video; whatever you want."  
Finn's hurt softens as he listens to his friend's earnest offer. "I'll pick up some pizza on the way," He answers.  
"I'll get the peas out of the freezer," Will responds and the joy is audible in his tone.

* * *

Will greets him with a friendly hug at the door to apartment no. 7.  
"Is that for me or the pizza?" Finn jokes.  
"You of course," The older man answers, rolling his eyes. He sets a hand onto Finn's shoulder, his eyes full of sincerity, "I'm sorry for the way I treated you this week. You didn't deserve it."  
The young man's stomach performs backflips as he looks at the depth of emotion in his friend's expression and he waves off the apology readily, "It's okay, Will. Now let's eat this before it goes cold."  
He sets the thin-crust chicken, red pepper and onion pizza down on the coffee table next to the sweetcorn and baby carrots Will prepared. The older man pushes a copy of _Alien: Resurrection_ into the VCR and picks up the remote so that he can fast forward through the piracy warnings then claims his place on the couch. Finn spoons vegetables onto a plate and slides a slice of pizza alongside, handing it to Will. The older man smiles his thanks and watches with wry amusement as Finn loads his own plate up with three times as much pizza.

They speak very little for the first hour of the movie, simply eat their meal and watch quietly. Both of them have seen the film before and Finn finds his interest in Call, Ripley and the others waning the more time goes by because he's aware of the older man sliding closer to him on the couch every few minutes.  
"Will?" Finn whispers.  
The older man sits up, looking across to the younger man and in the low light of the evening his eyes look more gray than green, "Yes, Finn?"  
"Do you-?" His tongue feels thick and heavy, like a slab of old meatloaf in his mouth and he chickens out. "Do you want to watch something else?"  
"Okay," Will stands up and collects their dirty plates, bowls, cutlery and the empty pizza box from the coffee table. "The videos are in the cabinet, pick whatever you want."  
Finn stops the fourth installment in the _Alien_ franchise and sets the video to rewind while he looks through the collection of VHS tapes; he suspects that anything he chooses won't hold his interest any better..  
"Made your mind up yet?" The older man asks, returning from the kitchen with drinks for them both.  
"_Aliens_ was always my favorite in the series," Finn remarks, gesturing to the box set still sitting out on the coffee table.  
"For it's strong female protagonist," Will remarks with a lopsided smile. He slides the case from the box set and kneels down to switch it with the previous movie as the VCR clicks to indicate the end of the rewind process.  
Finn settles back onto the couch and picks up the bottle of Dr. Pepper Will bought for him. The older man has a Corona for himself and the minor eyes the chilled alcohol longingly, some Dutch courage wouldn't go amiss for him right now. When he turns his attention back to the television he sees Will knelt before the VCR with his butt up in the air, the denim of his jeans is stretched sinfully across his muscled backside and the semi Finn's been sporting in his pants for the past hour dribbles a few drops of precome that feel cold against the overheated skin of his thigh.

They don't even make it to the scene with Bishop showing off his android reflexes before Will is more or less snuggled up against the younger man once more.  
"Will?"  
Rather than move away, the older man turns his head slightly, "Yes, Finn?"  
Finn runs a hand up and down the neck of his soda bottle, then leans forward and places it on the coffee table. He turns back and finds that Will has put his own drink down and scooted a few inches away on the couch, watching him guardedly.  
"Will, I-" The younger man reaches out hesitantly and cups a hand to Will's jaw, the rasp of stubble beneath his palm is an unfamiliar sensation but his dick pulses at the feel of it.  
A glimmer of realization appears in the older man's gaze and his lips twitch nervously, "You don't have to say it." He leans closer and runs his fingers through Finn's hair, "I know." They lean in slowly, measuring each others' reaction right up to the point where their lips connect for a brief, soft moment of total clarity. "See," The older man whispers against Finn's cheek, "This is okay. We're fine."

They kiss again, keeping their lips together this time. Will's mouth tastes like beer and onions; the tip of his tongue teases Finn's lower lip and draws a little shiver out of the younger man. Finn lets himself fall back on the couch as the older man settles over him, he moves his hand from Will's jawline to the back of his neck and strokes the soft hairs of his nape with his fingertips; his other hand slides down the older man's body and slips into the back pocket of his jeans.  
"Shit! This is-" The older man's lips cut off his exclamation and he moans happily into his mouth, squeezing with the hand in Will's pocket.  
"Yes, yes it is," Will breathlessly agrees with the unfinished statement and rubs his knee between the young man's legs.  
"Oh," Finn gasps at the pressure against his yearning erection. "Oh..." (Please, please no. Not like this!) "Oh!" He feels his mouth go slack, falling totally limp to the couch cushions as he erupts in his pants.  
"Finn?" The older man questions worriedly. "Are you-"  
"'m okay," He assures, letting of Will's neck and gesturing downwards. "I sort of, uh..." He trails off, feeling the blush on his cheeks.  
"Ah," The older man remarks. "Hey, well that's okay."  
Finn opens his eyes as Will runs feather soft kisses down his neck, the slight scratch of stubble a contrast to the satin lips. "It is?" (Normally when this happens Quinn pulls back in disgust).  
Will leans back and shrugs gracefully, he looks like a content cat sitting up from a bowl of luxurious cream, "You're going to have to take your pants off anyway." Even with the glow of his orgasm making his loins feel fatigued, the older man's words set off a blazing arousal in Finn's belly. "Come on," Will coaxes, getting up from the couch and walking backwards in the direction of his bedroom. He reaches to the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head as he goes.

The younger man watches the unveiling of Will's rippling abs from his spot on the couch and licks his lips in devious anticipation. Pushing up from the couch, he crosses the room at speed and pulls the object of his desire into his arms again, pressing hungry kisses against Will's pliant lips. The older man slips his fingers through Finn's belt loops and pulls the young man along, grinning into their kiss.  
Finn moans as his hands cup warm, hard muscle and breaks the lip lock, "So what are we-? I mean, I've never..."  
Will's hands cup either side of his neck and he makes a shushing sound, placing a fresh, gentle kiss to the younger man's lips, "Just trust me."  
Finn nods and holds up his arms obligingly when the older man pulls his polo shirt up, casting it aside when it's free from his arms. Will presses his fingers to the younger man's chest, tracing the line of his pectorals and then cupping his waist to bring their lower bodies flush against one another. For the first time Finn feels the solid length of the other man's arousal pressed against him and gasps at the shiver it shoots up his spine; he's so used to feeling his own desire towards other people, but knowing that he's having the same effect on somebody else makes his head swim with sexual craving.  
"We should-" Will pushes away to prevent himself writhing against Finn's solid frame and notices the movie still playing. "We should turn off the TV."  
"Fuck the TV!" Finn declares passionately, encircling Will's waist from behind when the older man makes to head back to the couch and holds him in place.  
"It'll waste power," Will argues, letting his head roll back onto Finn's shoulder and grinds back against the body holding him close.  
"Leave it," Finn whispers against his captive's ear.  
"It's-" He chokes off with a pleased moan when the younger man sucks a hickey onto his neck, "-bad for the environment."  
"Okay, that does it." Finn lifts the other man up by his waist and turns them round in the direction of Will's bedroom. The older man shrieks, then laughs and squirms playfully in Finn's grasp as he's carried.

"I'm going to turn the TV off," Will declares defiantly when the younger man drops him down on the bed.  
"Oh really?" Finn cocks an eyebrow and unbuckles his belt. The older man's eyes drop to watch and he abandons his move to get up. The younger man's dick is perking up ready for round two and swells quickly as Will watches Finn pulls his jeans down with darkened eyes.  
"Fuck," The older man groans, pushing a hand into his own pants and squeezing his erection at the sight of Finn's cock pushing at the cum-stained material of his boxers. The younger man pauses with his jeans at his thighs and falls onto the bed over Will, batting the older man's hand away and tearing the zipper down so that he can get to the prize. "God damn!" Will curses as Finn rubs him through his briefs, he surges up and claims the younger man's mouth again in a searing kiss; his hips bucking up into the gratifying touch.

The young man pulls back to strip the denim away from Will's legs completely and spills two dollars, a penny in change and a receipt from the pizza place onto the floor when he turns his own jeans inside out in his haste to strip bare.

The older man kneels on the edge of the bed and presses their lips together again, his hands sliding down to cup Finn's ass and grind their hardened lengths together. The young man groans into the kiss and tangles his fingers in the older man's curls, thrusting his hips into Will's; desperate for the friction on his eager erection.  
"We should-" Will gasps, his thumbs tucked into the band of Finn's boxers with obvious intent.  
"Yes." Finn steps back and unceremoniously pushes his underwear to the floor. Simultaneously, Will pushes his briefs down to his knees, then sits back on his butt to disentangle them from his legs. The older man's dick is bigger than Finn's, but with less girth. The head is rose-flushed and shaped like a bell, unlike the mushroom tip of the younger man's swollen length. Finn wraps a hand round it experimentally and tugs, Will grunts and thrusts up into the touch; reaching for the younger man's erection to return the favor.

They jack each other off on the edge of Will's bed for several moments that feel like long, pleasurable eternities to Finn with each slide of the older man's fingers on his rigid dick. Without stopping, the older man reaches up with his free hand and pulls on Finn's shoulder, guiding him onto his back on the bed.  
"Fuck, Will!" The young man groans as the other man kneels between his parted legs and brings their erections together.  
"You're so damn sexy," Will grunts, thrusting against the younger man's stomach and licks a stripe up his neck.  
"Not half as sexy as you," Finn returns, replacing Will's hand in stroking their precome slick lengths together. "When you smile, I just..." He cuts off with a gasp as the older man sucks at the patch of skin where his neck and shoulder join. His hand travels from the small of Will's back to palm one of the smooth globes of his tight ass, his pinky finger accidentally traces along the hairy cleft between the two cheeks.  
"Jesus!" Will whispers the word onto the damp patch of skin he's left on Finn's neck, a tremble running through him. The young man withdraws and then runs his index finger over the crack experimentally. "Oh god, don't tease!" The older man arches up, making shallow thrusts into Finn's hand, his control over the pace restricted by the tight grip.  
The young man looks up into the debauched face of the other man, circling the ring of sensitive flesh; "Can I?" His rigid cock twitches in his grasp at the thought of being balls deep inside Will with the older man crying out his name in ecstasy.  
Will looks down at him, chewing on his lower lip with his handsome face contorted by indecision. "It'd take too much work, take too long," He shakes his head and makes more shallow thrusts. "I just want to come!" He whines.  
Will's desperate plea is Finn's undoing, he feels the flow of his orgasm coming and so starts up his stroking again in time to shoot out a healthy spattering of spunk across his stomach. When he's masturbating, this is the point at which he'd stop, but with the older man still whimpering for his own release Finn keeps up the rhythm. His load lubricates the process and Will places his own hand over Finn's, guiding the pace and pressure that gets him off best until his own slick release has burst from the tip of his cock and mixed with the droplets already coating the younger man's abdomen.

They slump down onto the mattress together, Finn laid out on his back and Will curled beside him with one leg hooked over Finn's.  
"The TV is still on," The young man reminds, pressing a kiss to Will's hairline.  
"Fuck the TV," The older man groans.  
"You've changed your tune," Finn notes teasingly.  
"I need to change these sheets," Will responds, indicating the sticky patches where they've wiped the come from their skin.  
"Hey, don't tell me you think we're done for the night," Finn nudges the older man.  
Will sits up to face the younger man, cocking an eyebrow at his alacrity. "Teenage hormones," He speaks the words like an insult.  
"Guilty as charged," He retorts with an unapologetic grin. The older man rolls his eyes and kisses him sloppily in reply.

* * *

Finn wakes to the sound of _Lady Marmalade_, before he even opens his eyes he know something is wrong with that scenario. Rolling over on the spacious double bed, he sits up and stifles a yawn; the vocal runs of the pop starlets' collaboration is coming from the radio alarm clock on Will's nightstand and so he silences the song with the application of the snooze button. He lies back down and rubs his eyes, wincing a little at the soreness in his groin from last night's vigorous exertion of his refractory period. He feels wrung out, tired from too little sleep and the stirrings of a panic attack creep up on him as he thinks over the things he and Will did together.

As he's debating in his head whether he'll be able to gather his clothes and sneak out of the apartment without being caught, the bedroom door opens and the older man appears. He's fully-dressed in a v-neck sweater, plain tie and gray slacks. His hair has been brushed hurriedly and there are faint circles under his eyes.  
"Oh hey, you're awake," The older man observes as he crosses through to the bathroom.  
"Um, yeah," Finn replies dully, gathering the blankets over himself modestly.  
"I was going to leave a note," Will continues, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush and scrubbing his teeth hurriedly. "I have to go to work."  
"Right, yeah."  
The older man spits, rinses and returns from the bathroom, "I put your clothes on the chair." He nods towards the folded pile by the desk. "Take what you want from the cabinets, we've got cereal and stuff..." He pauses uncertainly by the edge of the bed and then leans down. Finn opens up under the kiss; Will's mouth tastes like mint and traces of black coffee. "I'll call you, we can... We'll talk," The older man assures as he pulls back.  
"Okay." The young man forces a smile as Will heads out the door and leaves to go do whatever stuff it is that accountants do on Monday morning after they've just gotten laid.

The radio sounds again a couple of minutes later and Finn spares a few moments fumbling with the alarm clock in an attempt to silence the device properly and cut off the babbling of the irritating radio DJ. The effort he makes is enough to have him upright, so he clambers out of the bed and picks up his clothes. His boxer shorts are stiff with the dried remains of his first ejaculation of the previous night and they're uncomfortable to wear, but he makes do. He looks at the disheveled bedspread and acknowledges all the similar stains that will have dried into the bed linens; he wonders if it's proper etiquette to bundle the bedsheets into the washing machine before he leaves, but since he isn't sure he simply closes the bedroom door behind him with the bed still unmade.

He finds a box of muesli in the cabinet and pours a serving into a breakfast bowl. He manages two mouthfuls before the sickly sensation in his stomach removes any trace of his appetite, pushing the bowl away he stumbles out of the door and down onto the street. He sucks in deep breaths of clean, summer morning air and fights the desire to vomit in the tidy flowerbed. Climbing into the Aries, he drives away from Will's calm little neighborhood; leaving behind an unmade bed, a bowl of soggy muesli and all his assurance that he wasn't attracted to the older man.

* * *

Finn slumps low on the Puckerman's old couch, the sun is setting and there's a brilliant view of the dusk sky through the open garage door. Puck sits beside him, picking at a spot on the upholstery that's been sewn over dozens of times.  
"So when do you leave?" The mohawked teen inquires.  
"On Monday," He answers plainly.  
"That's not long," Puck remarks sorrowfully.  
"I can still make Conrad's on Friday," The drummer promises. The lead guitarist has finally convinced the lounge's owner to let them headline and now they're facing the fact that it's the last performance the Dirty Muthafuckas are ever going to give.  
"Yeah, that oughta be good," Puck agrees, sipping from his can of Coors. When Finn arrived that afternoon there were six left over from the party last Friday, Puck has had four and Finn the other two.  
"So what are you going to do?" He asks, trying to break his friend from his melancholy mood.  
"I don't know." The mohawked teen shrugs, "Trent Lane's band has like, three guitar guys. I'm sure they'll let another one in." He leans his head back on the couch, smiling wistfully over at his friend, "We were going to be so great."  
"The best," Finn agrees, holding up his can to toast their middle school fantasy one final time.  
"We were gonna see the whole country," The guitarist continues, looking out the open door to the blazing sky and stretching a hand out to encompass it all. The string-callused hand slumps back down onto the decrepit two-seater, as deflated as their once great dreams.  
"You could come see me in Columbus," He offers.  
Puck sighs, "Maybe." He doesn't sound overly hopeful.  
"When did life start sucking?" Finn questions gloomily, he drains the lingering drops of his beer and then lets the empty can drop through his fingers to the floor.  
"Hey, you're getting out of this dead-end town," The other teen reminds him.  
"I don't know," The young man worries his lower lip. "I kind of think I'm gonna miss it when I'm gone."  
Puck snorts and slaps him on the back of the head, "Don't be a moron. What is there in this craphole that would be worth sticking around for?"  
Finn thinks of slender fingers on his chest, husky accented Spanish whispered into his ear, tiny creases at the corner of gray-green eyes, playful banter that comes so naturally, the scent of magnolia and woodsy aftershave, a warm chuckle of laughter spilling over from soft, pink lips.

… He thinks of the dozen unanswered messages from Will on his machine at home and feels an uneasy stirring of guilt low in his belly.

* * *

On Friday, he brings Quinn half a dozen red roses. She puts them in a glass vase and puts the vase on her vanity table. They hold hands amid the cardboard boxes filling up her room and she reaches up on tiptoe to press a single apologetic kiss to his forehead for all the pain she's caused him. He tucks her golden hair behind her ear and kisses her cheek in a similar act of apology.

They look through the tiny collection of photographs from Prom. Quinn delights in remembering the happier moments of a night she spent almost entirely in a foul mood, cooing over her champagne gown and salon styled hair. Finn leaves grubby thumbprints on the corners of the glossy paper and squints down at the grinning goofball carrying condoms in the pockets of his rented tuxedo in the hope of getting lucky some time before the last dance. Back then he didn't know he was capable of going through more than two rounds in a single night, didn't know the feel of a man's chest hair against his skin or how good it would feel to have a delicate finger trace the skin behind his balls; two months ago, a lifetime ago, before he knew Will Schuester.

He asks Quinn to come to the Dirty Muthafuckas final performance that evening, she promises to be there and stays true to her word; standing by the edge of the stage and cheering them on as they run through their best material. Brittany buys everybody drinks with the money she's earned working full time hours at the cybercafe for the past two weeks and gives everybody several emotional hugs. Doc. Lopez wasn't particularly pleased to see Jacob's story on page 5 of the Wednesday paper and so Santana is completely absent from the last celebration before they leave their hometown behind them. By all measures it is a good night.

* * *

Franc orders cake on Sunday, much to Joolie's frustration. The rest of their co-workers spend their lunch hour alternating between working the shop floor and hanging out in the backroom with Finn and Joolie, wishing them luck at college and saying how happy they've been to work with them over the summer. The young man meets at least three people he's never seen before who all enthuse about how polite he was to work with, Joolie assures him it is common practice for people on different shifts to stop by if there's a chance of cake.  
"So are you going to be back here next year?" Finn queries, peeling the icing away from his slice of cake and cutting it into chunks with his plastic spork.  
"That's the plan," She answers, sipping on her grape soda glumly.  
"I was thinking I might come back next summer too."  
"Allow me moment to contain my unimaginable joy," She deadpans. He glares and jabs her with the dull prongs of his spork, she sprays sponge cake crumbs with the first genuine laugh he's heard from her.  
"But seriously, you've been a cool work-person, sorta-friend," He professes. "I like you about ten times more than I like any of these people, especially that guy."  
She looks towards the guy he's indicating; he's wearing a Snoopy t-shirt and combat boots, "Who _is_ that guy?"  
"I don't know, but my point stands," He insists.  
She shakes her head, lips curled up into a _Mona Lisa _smile, "If you're in Cincinnati in the coming year, look me up. If not," She steps down from the shelf they're seated on and holds a hand out formally, "I shall see you again right here in June." He wipes crumbs from his hand onto his pants leg and takes her mock handshake, they pump arms over-zealously and the motion knocks Finn's party hat from his head. "Come on," She gestures to the clock. "Last shift, then we're free."

* * *

Finn lays on the tiny bed, that's only felt smaller in the past week, and looks up at the cowboy wallpaper covering the walls and slanted ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Most of the furniture is still in place but it's been cleared of all his belongings, tucked away into boxes ready to be loaded into the car tomorrow morning: his trophies, his VHS tapes, his free weights, his clothes, the few books that he actually reads rather than leaving to gather dust on the shelf; all of it has been stripped from the room until the only part of him left behind is the cowboy wallpaper he picked out from Sears when he was eight.

The answering machine is sitting at the bottom of one of the boxes with a clean tape in it, but Will's messages are still weighing heavily on the younger man's mind. As the sun sets low over the western sky on that perfect, mid-August Sunday he finds himself getting up from the bed and heading downstairs with the keys to the Aries. The green sedan cruises smoothly onto the 65 heading south because his guts may be churning nervously, but Finn isn't going to lie to himself and pretend he's just out for a nostalgic drive through town.

He stops the car outside the cubist apartment block off of St. John's, taking steady breaths as he enters the building and climbs the stairs up to apartment no. 7.  
Will answers the door and his face lights up when he sees who it is, "Finn." The young man accepts the sudden embrace awkwardly and lets himself be pulled into the apartment. "I thought you- Well after I came home- And you weren't returning my calls..." He trails off and smiles faintly, "But that doesn't matter now; you're here."  
"I'm here," He acknowledges. "Will, there's something I-"  
"Me first," The older man talks over him. "I broke it off with Emma. I wasn't planning on two-timing you if that's what you were worried about."  
"That isn't it," Finn answers.  
"Is it that we went too fast?" Will queries swiftly, "We can cool off, take it slow for a few weeks-"  
"Will, I..." Finn chokes on the words and has to force them out. "I'm leaving for Columbus tomorrow morning." The stunned look on the older man's face makes him feel like something petty and gross that needs to be choked with Raid and stomped flat onto the kitchen floor. "I just wanted to say goodbye."  
"I... I see," Will's devastated expression smooths over rapidly, but the sheen of pain in his eyes doesn't wipe away as readily.  
"I... uh-" Finn lifts a clumsy hand to squeeze the older man's shoulder, but Will flinches away.  
"Just go," He instructs monotonously, turning his back to Finn.  
The younger man yearns for something he can say or do to fix the pain and anger radiating from the older man's tensely held form, but there is no way to stop the pain he's caused; he's blown a dam to smithereens with ten tonnes of cowardly bastard TNT and now the river is going to wash Will away. As he closes the door to no. 7 and heads down the shadowy hall to return to his car, the echo of a tiny sob rings in his ears and tears gory chunks from his heart with every repetition.


	6. Chapter 6

On move-in day he meets a girl named Rose moving into the room down the hall and her best friend and occasional fuck-buddy, Layla. It turns out that sleeping with two women at once is not as empowering a fantasy as most men probably assume, after he's come and is waiting for his body to recuperate the girls happily continue without him; by the time Lil Finny is ready to go again they've got a nice rhythm going and trying to join in is a lot like waiting for the turn of a roundabout.

Eventually frustrated by their total obliviousness to his presence he locks himself in the bathroom of his new room and finishes himself off with brusque strokes of his hand. Despite the noisy activity of the bisexual ladies on the other side of the wall, when he comes it is with the memory of licking sweat and bittersweet ejaculate from the crease of tight abdominal muscles.

* * *

Quinn visits on Columbus Day and they go for lunch at a quiet restaurant on the edge of campus, outside Northam Park. She tells him about the introductory classes to her veterinary major and asks him about the standard set of introductory classes he's taking until he can figure out what the hell he wants to do with the next four years. As the meal ends she asks if he's missed her and it isn't until she asks that he realizes exactly how much he _hasn't_. The break-up is mutual and long overdue, but he still feels shitty about it and so lets his roommate talk him into going to a Columbus Day party being held across campus at The Towers to get his mind off it.

At the party he gets drunker than he's been in a long time and meets AFG (Asshole Frat Guy). AFG flirts with him, makes him feel better about the break-up, then takes him through to one of the bedrooms and sticks his cock in Finn's mouth. Spitting up foul-tasting, gunky semen and insults he makes several uncoordinated swings at the older student. AFG accuses him of having a hetero freakout, calmly tucks his flaccid dick back into his pants and fucks off. As Finn is scrubbing the taste from his mouth with toothpaste squirted onto his finger in the bathroom, the young man thinks about it and acknowledges that if this had been his first experiment into the flexibility of his orientation he might have tried asserting his interest in women and repressed like crazy; but the scent of magnolia and woodsy aftershave still comes to him in his dreams sometimes and he knows that a male lover can be just as sensual as the shapely curves of a woman.

* * *

Andrea Wells is his first girlfriend after Quinn and his first real college relationship. She's African American, 5 foot 8 with hazel eyes and a little mole over her upper lip that he wants to press kisses to from the moment he first sees her. They meet at a Halloween party in the student lounge and spend most of the night chatting on one of the couches. When her friends find her to tell her they're leaving, Andrea scribbles her number down onto a napkin and then boldly pulls the mask of Finn's _Teen Wolf_ costume away to press a kiss to his lips that tastes of cherry lip balm.

They meet for coffee after his Fundamentals of Essay Writing lecture the next day and she lets him hold her hand on the way back to her room in the north campus halls. As far as girlfriends go, she's pretty awesome: she listens to him complain about Essential Mathematics class, checks periodically that he isn't bored out of his skull when she's talking to her friends about girl stuff, thinks that the chick-flick _Serendipity_ looks dreadful and insists on seeing _Thirteen Ghosts_ for their first proper date, braves the November chill to watch him run drills with the rest of the third-string players on the Buckeyes and most importantly, doesn't act like he's committed a grievous sin if he gets stiff in the pants when they're making out.

Two weeks into their relationship she introduces him to her older brother, Aaron. He's a grad student at Moritz College of Law on the southeast part of campus and enrolled at OSU specifically because they have one of the best reputed graduation rates for African American law students. Andrea followed her big brother from their home in Detroit after her first choice college rejected her and so jokingly tells Finn that he should thank the older man or they'd never have met. Finn is too distracted by Aaron's flawless skin and thick, rosy lips to reply.

The grad student is taller than Finn (A rare occurrence) and whoops his butt at basketball (Not as rare; there's a reason Finn's scholarship was for football). He's jovially flirtatious and better known to most of the campus as simply 'Wells' or by one of two nicknames: 'anal' and 'deep throat', the first is because he's notoriously well-organized, the second is for the sort of crude, sexual reasons one might have assumed upon hearing the former. The young man is blindsided by Wells' open admission of his homosexuality because he's about as far from prissy, fashion-obsessed Kurt Hummel as it is possible to be. As he thinks about it Finn begins to wonder if his insistence to Lima's only 'out' gay student that he wasn't homophobic was really as true as he'd always thought and thinks that if there are other guys like Wells who consider themselves gay, it might not be such a terrible thing.

He doesn't see Wells again after their first meeting until the Mirror Lake jump. Being on the football team means Finn is more or less obligated to attend, but the event attracts a large number of participants from among the rest of the student body. The grad student bumps into Finn after the jump as he is changing into warm, dry clothes in a secluded corner of the parking lot by the Aries; he explains that his roommate brought him to the event but is an astronomy nerd and plans to spend the next three hours stargazing and requests a ride back to the halls. As the older student talks Finn notices the appreciative looks his half-bare body is receiving.

They fuck in the back of the Aries, it smells of Krispy Kreme and there's a bottle cap digging into Finn's back the entire time. The young man cleans them off with a paper napkin and asks Wells if he has a habit of stealing his sister's boyfriends, the older student laughs richly and tells him he'll explain things to Andrea. The grad student must really have a silver tongue because Andrea's only complaint to Finn is his foolish attempt to avoid running into her, she bluntly tells him that she's lost him as a boyfriend and doesn't want to lose a friend at the same time.

He and Wells hang out and sometimes they fuck, it's not really a relationship but it works for Finn so he doesn't question it or ask where it's going. As satisfying as the sex is, he still sometimes wakes up from dreams of gray-green eyes and dirty Spanish phrases and hopes his roommate is deeply asleep as he tiptoes through to the bathroom to deal with his aching erection. Or on the unlucky nights, he'll wake from dreams of cold shoulders and shattered smiles to find tears on his pillow and a single name on his lips.

A week before Winter Break, Wells proves his talent for attention to detail that's going to make him a really kickass lawyer some day. Finn doesn't think 'Wells' and 'Will' sound that dissimilar, especially when they're being moaned by a guy getting his dick sucked, but the grad student pops his lips free of Finn's straining cock and refuses to continue unless he'll get the whole story when they're done. They eat leftover pizza from the mini-fridge and Finn tells the whole sorry tale from it's beginning; when he's done, the older student firmly commands him to get his dumb ass back to crapsack Lima and throw himself at the older man's feet until Will forgives him.

* * *

He passes St. John's Avenue as he gets into Lima on Christmas Eve and contemplates making the visit there and then to get it over with, but he's hoping that the reunion is going to be in his favor and knows his mom will have the police cruising the interstate looking for his rust bucket in a ditch on the side of the road if he doesn't make it home tonight.

On the morning of the 26th he heads outside first thing and scrapes the thin layer of ice off the windscreen of the Aries. As he works he thinks about the other people he should visit while he's in town: Puck's taking Senior year over and still living at home with his mom, Brittany moved into an apartment on Columbia Drive with a friend she made at work, he ought to drop by Ringo's and thank Jack for the letter of recommendation he gave that earned Finn a part-time job at a video store back in Columbus; but as he gets into the driver's seat he acknowledges that he'd only be stalling for time.

There's no reply for several minutes when Finn knocks at the door to apartment no. 7, but he's determined not to leave until he's had a chance to talk to the man he came all the way back from Columbus to see. He keeps knocking until there's the sound of muffled scrapings on the other side of the door.  
Bryan opens the door slowly and peers out, he's glassy-eyed and wearing a thick sweater over flannel pajama pants. "Oh," He blinks heavily at the younger man and, with some effort, straightens up in the doorway to adopt a stronger stance. "Finn."  
"You remembered my name?" The younger man is honestly surprised.  
"I tend to remember the names of people who break Schuester's heart," The blond retorts sharply.  
Finn flinches, but accepts the criticism as truth, "Is he here?"  
"No." There's a prolonged silence as the two men stand watching each other, but gradually something softens in Bryan's blue eyes and he relents, "He auditioned for one of those amateur theater productions he likes. The play opens on New Year's Day so they've been rehearsing pretty solidly, you'll probably find him at the theater."  
"Thank you," Finn fills the two syllables with earnest appreciation and leaves the older man to recover from his obvious hangover.

* * *

The young man's heart nearly leaps out of his chest with his first glimpse of the man he loves after months of not seeing him. Will's dressed in a thick, home-knitted sweater with a reindeer on it and the image is so encompassing of the older man's dorky hotness that Finn feels a little tremble in his knees as he walks down the steps towards the stage.

The older man is so caught up in the scene, reading lines from the script (A thick bundle of papers held together with bulldog clips) and looking to his co-star whenever he glances up, that he doesn't notice the younger man's arrival until Finn has stopped at the edge of the stage and called out, "Hey."  
Will stiffens and turns a little pale, he spins round to face the younger man and gapes openly for a few seconds, "Finn?" He looks over to a frantic-looking man in a baseball cap, "Can I take five?"  
"Sure, sure," The director doesn't look up, just waves in Will's direction. The actor walks down off the stage and approaches hesitantly, they meet in an awkward hug and walk off to a spot in the seats to talk in private.  
"What are you doing here?" Will asks, watching the younger man warily.  
"I came home for the Winter Break," The student answers. They both know that isn't what the older man meant, so he continues before the need for clarification becomes a problem, "I wanted to see you."  
"What for?" The older man asks flatly, one eyebrow raised.  
"You don't know?" Finn retorts, "Would it help if I told you that since I walked through that door two minutes ago I've been wanting to kiss you."  
"Kissing wasn't exactly what you had in mind the last time we saw each other," Will observes harshly.  
The younger man cringes, "I also want to apologize for that. I was an idiot."  
"You were honest," The older man opines. "You made it very clear that I'd been stupid to think there could have been more between us than a cheap one-night stand."  
"You think-?" Finn's mouth falls open at the bitter remark, "That isn't why I left."  
Will keeps up his bristling posture, but there's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, "Then why did you?"  
"I had to leave for college." He sees the line set into the older man's brow and hastens to explain his meaning, "I was worried that if I stayed too long, heard your voice, saw your smile, felt you kiss me; that I would call the admin office at OSU and tell them to give my place away to somebody else because I was going to be spending the next four years clinging to your back like a koala bear."  
Will's eyebrows raise slowly, his lips twitching with amusement at the mental image the younger man's words had invoked, "I don't-"  
"I woke up in your bed and it should have felt like a one-night stand," Finn continues. "You came breezing in to tell me you had to leave, pointed out where my clothes and the breakfast stuff was and then left me to it. I got up, got dressed, sat down to eat some cereal and all I could think was 'I want this'." He looks down, a blush rising on his face as he confesses to the revelation that had terrified him all those months ago. "I wanted to wake up in bed with you, kiss you goodbye before you went to work, have Cap'n Crunch next to that awful healthy stuff in your cabinet... I wanted this big, grown-up relationship with you and it scared the fuck out of me. So I ran. It's just about the stupidest thing I could have done, but I never said I was clever."  
"Do you... do you still want those things?" Will asks hesitantly, his hand brushing Finn's gently.  
The younger man catches the shy fingers and holds the hand securely in his own, "Every damn second of every single day."  
"Does it still scare you?" The older man prompts, the fingers of his other hand reaching under Finn's chin and tilting his face up until they're eye-to-eye.  
"It terrifies me," The younger man whispers.

Finn decides on the spot that if anybody ever asks him, _this_ was their first kiss. It doesn't come with the slow burn through his veins he felt during their almost-kiss when they were hiding from Bryan's poker buddies and it doesn't send hormones pumping through every part of him like their actual first kiss on the couch with _Aliens_ playing in the background, but their lips connect smoothly and slide together with familiarity and deep emotion. It lasts only a few short moments but it's an apology and a promise.  
"Schuester, come on; break's over!"  
They pull back a little sloppily, a trail of saliva connecting their lips. Finn brushes across his mouth and shifts back so that Will can stand up.  
"Stay and watch," The older man requests. "It's only another couple of hours, then we can go get something to eat."  
"Sure," Finn agrees readily and the connection between them severs as Will jogs back to take his place on the stage.

He's still got to go back to Columbus in a fortnight, they might find that they're romantically incompatible in the long term, there's no telling how much his mom's going to freak when she finds out, there's the larger social stigma a gay relationship with an eighteen year age gap will attract in their crappy Midwestern town to consider...

And yet, as Finn watches Will run through his lines from his seat in the third row, all he can think about is how thankful he is that he got a second chance at this.

* * *

References used in this fic/Mass disclaimer for all the things listed:

Songs/Albums mentioned:  
Train – _Drops of Jupiter_  
The Eagles – _Greatest Hits Vol. 2_, featuring the songs: _Hotel California_ and _Life in the Fast Lane_  
REO Speedwagon – _Hi Infidelity_  
Journey – _Escape_, featuring the song: _Don't Stop Believing_  
Styx – _Paradise Theater_  
Fleetwood Mac – _Rumours_, featuring the songs: _Second Hand News, Dreams, The Chain_ and _Gold Dust Woman_  
The Doors – _Light My Fire_  
Iron Butterfly – _In A Gadda Da Vida_  
Rupert Holmes – _Escape_  
Vixen – _American Dream_  
Helpful Corn is a band name borrowed from Daria  
The Guise is (to my knowledge) an entirely fictional band name.  
Blue Oyster Cult – _(Don't Fear) The Reaper_  
Eric Clapton – _Slowhand_, featuring the songs: _Cocaine_ and _We're All The Way_  
Eric Clapton – _From The Cradle_  
Air Supply – _Air Supply (1985)_, featuring the song: _The Power of Love (You Are My Lady)_  
Poison – _Talk Dirty To Me_  
Christina Aguilera, P!nk, Lil' Kim, Mýa – _Lady Marmalade_

TV/Movies/Books/Plays mentioned:  
The buddy-cop movie where one of the partners is Death in disguise is (sadly) totally fictional.  
The romance novel Carole is reading is fictional, but the lovers' names are a reference to the Puccini opera _La Boheme._  
CSI  
The Simpsons  
Legally Blonde (Which I hold in much higher regard than Finn).  
Aliens  
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles  
Singin' in the Rain  
My Fair Lady  
Sesame Street  
Once Upon A Mattress  
Alien: Resurrection  
Teen Wolf  
Serendipity  
Thirteen Ghosts

Characters mentioned:  
Ms. Defoe, Mr. DeMartino, Mr. O'Neill, Ms. Barch, Kevin Thompson and Trent Lane are all borrowed from Daria.

Lastly, the concept and basic plot structure for this fic were inspired by the 2001 film _Ghost World_.

* * *

ETA: In response to numerous requests I have received in reviews, I apologise but I have no immediate plans to write a sequel to this particular fic. I will, however, continue to write Winn fics.

Also, in response to a particular review pointing out a supposed 'mistake' in the timeline, I felt it worthwhile to specify that this fic is set in 2001 and so all dates mentioned are counted from that timescale, not our own.


End file.
